


Drabbles & Shorts

by infectedscrew



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Impulse (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bad Hobbies, Ballet AU, Bondage, CIA AU, Cat!Dick, Cat/Human Hybrids, Crimelord AU, Dark Tim, Dick is the Doctor, Doctor AU, Doctor Who AU, Gen, Gods AU, Janitor AU, Jason is a priest, Kitsune AU, M/M, Master/Pet, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Multi, Never Been Robin AU, Priest AU, Robin Hood AU, Sex Toys, Tags to be added, Tim is Rose, cursing, fear toxin, voyuerism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:03:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 50
Words: 29,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6775753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infectedscrew/pseuds/infectedscrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of all my short pieces that have been gathering up over time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reality or Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> From Tumblr's @incogneat-oh's HC: In Tim’s early days as Robin, he was hit with a toxin. Sweating, shaking and in more pain than he’d ever experienced, he told Bruce – “I’m sorry I’m not Jason”. 
> 
> He’ll never know if it was Bruce or a twisted hallucination that told him, “Me too.”

The pain was threatening to tear every nerve from Tim’s body.

There was nothing to compare this to. No moment in his life had ever culminated in this much muscle-tearing, scream inducing horror. He couldn’t tell where one wave of suffering ended and another started.

Every shred of his being was on fire, being ripped apart by a thousand hooks.

He needed help, he needed release from this moment.

“Tim,” Bruce’s voice sounded from so close but so far away.

It hurt to hear.

It made his head pulse and his ears ring.

He shrieked to make the sound stop, to get back the silence he so desperately needed.

“Tim, listen,” Bruce continued, heedless of Tim’s pain. “I need you to listen.”

This must be punishment, Tim decided. He hadn’t listened to Bruce. Echos of past conversations rang in his head, reminding him of his failures. He hadn’t followed Bruce’s instructions and now he was paying dearly for it.

“Tim, it’s going to be okay.”

He couldn’t understand that. He’d messed up and he was being punished for it. He was learning his lesson. His own parents had told him he needed to listen, pay attention, more. He hadn’t listened to them or Bruce and now his body was being rendered in a million pieces.

It wasn’t going to be okay and it was all his fault.

“Bruce,” he choked out, throat clenching around the sounds. “Bruce, I’m sorry.”

Another shock of pain yanked his voice away, taking his chance to explain what he’d done wrong.

“Tim, it’s not your fault.”

Tim jerked and spasmed. He needed to explain. He had more to say. His throat worked hard around the tension, forcing the words out. “I’m sorry I’m not Jason.”

There was an echoing, harsh silence. No words to greet or answer him as the pain threatened to devour him whole. He’d said his fault, he’d explained himself. He could let the embrace of subconciousness take over now.

“Me too,” his mentor rumbled back to him, telling him exactly what he’d always known.

The relief of darkness was far more peaceful than Tim ever expected.


	2. Batman's Hobbies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has to have a hobby when he isn't running around as Gotham's infamous Playboy or Dark Knight.

“Hey, Bats,” Dick Grayson called as he almost skipped down the stairs into the infamous Bat Cave.

Since his arrival at Wayne Manor, Dick had learned that there was nothing Bruce hated more than being called ‘Bats’. He found it rude and derogatory. Although, derogatory to what Dick had no idea. He had now made it his personal goal to say it at least six times a day, just to get some sort of reaction. Now, on his way down for patrol, he had used it for a friendly greeting.

Only, instead of the angry huff it normally got him, Bruce remained silent, staring at a set of chemicals on one of his many tables.

Dick paused, frowning. “Bats?” He called again, hand lifted to pull out his Robin uniform. Still not getting an answer, he moved away from the lockers, across the cave and next to the brooding man. “Bruce?”

Finally, Bruce reacted. He twitched and grabbed a small vile. “Take this,” he shoved it at Dick.

“Can I know what it is?” He asked.

“Scarecrow’s fear toxin,” Bruce deadpanned.

Dick stared at him. “What?”

“I’m trying to make antidotes. I think I’ve finally got it,” he explained, expression hard and serious.

“Is that what you’ve been doing all day?” Dick asked, subconsciously curling his hand around the vile. “Do you just sit down here and make antidotes?” He looked at the noxious green liquid he had just picked up.

“Yes,” Bruce stated. It was so flat, so serious and so, totally Bruce.

There was a small sigh from the young teen. “Why can’t you take it?” He mumbled, already knowing that he would get a perfect answer. “Seriously, all day?” He refocused on Bruce, still not taking the drink.

Bruce shrugged, or at least, it was a shrug for him. Had anyone else done it, the movement would have been a vague twitch of shoulder muscles. “It’s important for the mission,” he replied. “If I don’t have them, it could cause serious problems in the future.”

“Yea, but…” Dick trailed off, not really thinking of a good reason to not spend well over ten hours in a dark, cave, isolated from the world creating antidotes for things he was sure didn’t even exist yet. With a sigh, he figured that on the off chance that the criminals finally got smarter than them, he would be thanking Bruce.

With eyes screwed shut, Dick threw back the nauseating liquid.

Three hours later, he woke up in his bed, glaring at the ceiling. Later he would be thanking Bruce. Right now, he was cursing the Bat from Hell to high Heaven. How dare he spend an entire day in the cave thinking up antidotes and not even bother to give him one that worked.


	3. One of Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce & Dick have a quiet moment after a fraught night.

Ever since Dick had pulled on the symbol and turned into the bright light Batman needed, he hadn’t gotten a full nights sleep.

It couldn’t be healthy for a growing lad.

Then again, fighting thugs, taking down crime syndicates, doing undercover work into prostitution and other such things probably weren’t good for him either.

On this particular night, he’d agreed to be the bait.

He and Bruce had been chasing a madman down for weeks. Every time they thought they were close, he slipped right past them. It was infuriating to say the least. In a rather drastic move, Dick had agreed to be the man’s latest victim.

A lost little boy searching for a way home.

That’s how all the other victims had gone.

The pattern wasn’t about to change now.

It wasn’t the man himself that made the night terrible. It was his house. It was what was inside it. The smells, the sights, the horrible piling of children’s bodies and toys. It was the dirt and grim encrusted floors, soaked through with blood. It was the tight, cloying feeling of having clammy hands curl over his shoulders that made his night absolutely, disturbingly bad.

It took everything in Dick not to throw up the instant he stepped through the door.

It took everything else to not punch the man in the throat and ditch.

For one agonizing hour, Dick was stuck with this monster of a man. He had to sit, listening to the man babble about his victims. What he’d done, how proud of himself he was and how he was going to pour his best work into Dick.

In all the time, Dick was sure he was never going to sleep again.

But then Batman was there and Dick had never been so relieved to see Bruce so angry.

“Dick, come on,” Bruce said quietly into his hair, gathering him up in his arms. “Let’s go home.”

Dick clung to Bruce nowhere near sane enough to speak. For once, he let Bruce do the talking for them both.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” the dark savior murmured, never once letting Dick go on the whole ride back. “I didn’t know it would get that bad.”

The apologies and quiet soothing didn’t stop until Bruce had gotten them both changed and up to the study. He finally set Dick down long enough to start a fire. He called for Alfred and gathered the boy back up in his arms.

“Rough night, sirs?” Alfred greeted, carrying in hot chocolate and cookies.

“More than that,” Bruce sighed, taking one of the mugs and pressing it into Dick’s shaky hands. He took the second mug for himself.

“So gross…” Dick mumbled, pulling attention to himself. “It was gross.”

Bruce handed the mug back to Alfred. “I know, I’m sorry,” he said quietly, arms tight around Dick.

“But… He’s in jail, right?”

Bruce nodded.

“Then… We did good.”

“We did well, sir,” Alfred corrected on instinct.

Dick turned his head to stare at Alfred. It took a long moment before Dick nodded. “Yeah. We did. We did well.”

Bruce glanced to Alfred. “You did very well, Dick.”

Dick snorted, curling closer to Bruce’s chest and sipping his hot chocolate. “Not much talent in playing a victim.”

“You didn’t punch the target or break cover. That’s a good thing.”

“Oh man, how I wanted to.”

Once Dick was relaxed enough and Bruce had uttered enough quiet apologies for a life time, the pair settled back to watch late-night television. Alfred brought them more snacks and hot drinks. It sufficed to keep them distracted until Dick fell asleep.

Bruce stayed up much longer, holding the small boy against him. It was the first quiet night in a long while and would probably be the only one for quite some time.


	4. Clipped Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is not handling the loss of Robin well.

Sitting on a roof top as Robin was one thing. It meant he was being productive. He was saving people and stopping the scum of the world. Sitting on top of a roof as Timothy Drake meant that he had been pulled from the one constant in his life and was now forced into a fake normalcy. It made his shoulders tense and his head pulse with barely contained irritation.

His arms tightened around his knees as he watched a purse snatcher bolt down the sidewalk. He could be stopping that. He could be sending that man to jail and returning the purse to a delighted young woman. He could be… Sleeping, like a normal teenager.

“Stupid,” Tim muttered, burying his face in his knees. He’d lied for Bruce for three years. He’d lied to keep people safe. He’d destroyed every bit of trust between himself and his father just so he could run over roof tops in tights.

It’d be funny if it didn’t make his stomach hurt so much.

“Tim.”

A jerk pulled Tim upright. He turned his head to look at an achingly familiar form. “Batman,” he spoke through a tight jaw. “What are you doing here?” He asked. “I don’t work for you anymore.”

Batman didn’t move, the only sign he’d even heard Tim was a vague tightening in his lips. “That’s why I’m here.”

“What do you mean?”

Tiny negated movements echoed from Batman’s person. He was slipping, battling inside himself. The Mission always came first, but, sometimes a conversation with a former soldier was more important. “We did not leave on the best terms.”

If one could call Jack Drake threatening murder and force quitting from a three year career ‘best terms’.

“No, we didn’t. But it doesn’t matter. I’m a normal teenager now. Normal teenagers don’t talk to Batman. They don’t sit on roof tops. They just sit and watch as someone gets their purse stolen.” Tim’s voice rose as he spoke. It had been weeks since he’d hit the roofs. Days since he’d been able to get anything close to adrenaline out of his system. It was driving him up the wall. He didn’t know if he’d burst into tears or finally snap and just start punching things. “I’m Tim Drake not Robin!”

Batman bowed his head slightly. He moved his hand to grip Tim’s shoulder. His hand was still so big and strong. It pulled Tim back to vague place of comfort. “You were forced to go through a lot during the past three years.”

Tim blinked. He wasn’t sure if Batman, no, Bruce, was apologizing or not. He stayed quiet, focused on regulating breathing instead.

“What you had to sacrifice to work as Robin was more than I should have asked for.”

Tim didn’t think he’d ever heard Bruce talk so much in a single moment, unless it was for a case. He sighed softly and lifted a hand to curl around Bruce’s wrist. “It’s okay.”

Batman’s hand tightened, the glove digging into Tim’s shoulder. “It is nothing close to okay,” he said, tone low. “You deserve the chance to be… Normal.” Carefully, he let go.

Tim knew if he blinked Batman would be gone. Almost childishly, he kept his eyes wide open.

“However, should you need to… Your uniform is still yours.”

Tim couldn’t help it, he blinked. Sure enough Batman was gone. He stared at the space that Batman had been. Was that a weird form of an apology? Then again, this was Bruce. That was as close to an apology that Tim was ever going to get.

And that, more than anything anyone had said to him in the past few months, meant exponentially more.


	5. Stitch It All Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - Bruce is a doctor but he still meets Jason stealing all his stuff.

“Doctor Wayne, you’re needed up in Triage.”

Bruce sighed, setting down a stack of patient files. Why he’d ever decided to go into the Medical field he had no idea. Honestly, the hours were grueling, most of the patients were pretty ungrateful and he rarely had days off. Still, he believed that he was doing something good. He had to, otherwise, Gotham would run him into the ground.

Straightening his scrubs, he moved out of the supply office and headed down to Triage. Sometimes one particularly busy nights, like this one, he’d forget to do a few tiny things. Like close the door to the supply closet. Or the window in his office.

“Leslie, what’s happening in Triage?” He demanded before he’d even left the hallway.

“Four gunshot wounds. Looks like Black Mask and his gang are making a move on East Gotham tonight.”

Bruce shook his head, snagging a nurse and giving her specific instructions on opening rooms. “Ridiculous. Doesn’t that guy know it’s a bank holiday?”

“Bruce, I’m going to assume that’s why he’s doing it.”

His response was lost as the door closed behind him.

In the following silence, the gleaming, sterile hallways settled in on themselves. Rooms and tiled floors that had seen more than it’s fair share of death took a small moment of peace. Not even the slim figure climbing through the office window could bother the stillness at the moment. Although the awkward grappling with the door did ruin it slightly.

The dirty, rumpled figure cursed and looked around quickly. Eyes narrowed, he cast a quick look around to make sure no one was around. Quietly as he possibly could, he hurried over to the supply cabinet.

“Can’t get any more convenient than this,” he murmured victoriously to himself.

Slipping through the door, he paused when he faced the shelves. They were covered in everything from bandages all the way to medical marijuana. Everything was white like a bad Hollywood movie. He frowned at the shelves. He didn’t quite know what he needed. He was only a teenager after all.

“Just… Pick something Todd,” he scolded himself.

Bandages seemed good, he started there. Snagging some rolls off of the shelf, he started his little burglary.

“Who are you?”

A deep voice interrupted the process. It was so sudden and unexpected that the teenager dropped the bottle of pills and spun around.

The doctor he saw earlier stood in the door way. He was unusually well built for a doctor and well groomed. The stitching on his left breast said his name was Bruce Wayne, M.D. And the frown on his face said he wasn’t very happy.

The teenager’s mouth gaped uselessly. He didn’t have a way out, not with the giant doctor standing in his way.

“I’ll repeat myself, who are you?” Bruce asked. “And what are you doing?”

Stopping the shaking in his hands by clenching the supplies tight, he straightened up and looked the doctor right in the eye. “I’m Jason Todd and I’m stealing stuff because your hospital is too damn expensive.”


	6. High School Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian finds himself green with envy.

“But then Trevor thought that it wasn’t a good idea. Little did I know he was totally right. How was I supposed to know that adding sodium chloride to fire is a bad idea?”

Colin laughed, the sound light and cheerful.

Damian’s return noise wasn’t even close. It was more of a brief, vaguely amused snort. It certainly didn’t make him look any happier. With his arms crossed and an annoyed glower settled on his features, Damian was the perfect image of pouting.

The red head next to him seemed unaffected. Then again after being friends for nearly six years, he’d grown used to all the angry, grumpy face. He continued explaining his day at school unheeded.

“And at lunch Trevor started a food fight all because he didn’t like the peas.”

Another laugh and Damian sunk further into the couch.

Honestly, it wasn’t just another pout. Damian was furious. Ever since Colin had started high school six months ago it had been Trevor this and Trevor that. From the way his friend spoke it was like the man was a God. And Damian had met Gods. Trevor was no god. He was getting very annoyed with this teenager monopolizing his friend’s time.

“Oh and… I promised him I’d go to the Parade this Saturday.”

Damian blinked, looking around. “Promised? Promised who?”

Colin lifted an eyebrow, annoyed that Damian had been listening. “Trevor. I said that, like, six times.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed, he went back to glaring at the television. “Fine, go have fun.”

“Damian, it’s Wednesday.”

Damian snorted and shoved himself off of the couch. “Right, I’m going to the bathroom,” he stated. In a rather abrupt move, he left the room. Far down the hall way, the door to the bathroom slammed.

Colin stared. “What…?”

There was a quiet chuckle above him. He tilted his head back to look up at Dick Grayson, who was carrying a tray of drinks.

“Oh young love,” the man chuckled, moving to set the tray down on the coffee table. “Looks like Damian’s got a rival for affection.”

Colin pursed his lips. “Dick, you say the craziest shit.”

Dick laughed. “Remind me of those words when the Sadie Hawkins rolls around.”


	7. Familial Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr's @incogneat-oh's HC: ⚡ When Colin hits a growth spurt first, Damian stops inviting him over. He is too insecure about what his family will think.

Damian had always said that he was going to be the biggest, strongest member of the Wayne family.

He more than proven himself to be the best Robin, it only made sense that he would become the tallest as well.

Only that dream was dashed just after his fourteenth birthday.

Colin had beaten him to it, but a couple inches.

Granted, Colin wasn’t apart of the Wayne family; not formally anyway. He didn’t look anything like Damian and there was no way Bruce would suddenly pick Colin to be the newest version of Robin. Especially since Bruce had already commented that he thought Abuse was a little too wild to be trained.

It didn’t change the fact that Colin was now taller than him, quite visibly.

And Colin was very much lording it over him.

“See anything interesting down there? I’m too far away to see it now,” Colin teased, almost constantly.

It had to be divine retribution for Damian constantly telling Colin that he would be tall and Colin would have a permanent crick in his neck from looking up.

With Colin so much taller now, Damian refused to let him come over to the house. He knew, without a doubt, the rest of his ‘family’ would mock him for the drastic difference. They would barb him for his inability to grow tall faster. They would all tease while Drake gave him that sympathetic look, the one that said 'it’s not so bad to be short, I should know’.

And that would be the worst part. Teasing from the rest and sympathy from the one person he didn’t want it from.

Until Damian matched Colin’s height or more, their time together would be spent anywhere else than the Manor.

It worked well for a couple months. Colin never complained, but then he was always happy to get out of whatever foster home he’d been stuck in. And Damian never explained his actions. He didn’t need to. They were perfectly reasonable and he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone.

But, eventually, Damian was rudely reminded that his family had a bad habit of coming to Gotham for more than just patrol.

“Hey lil’ D,” Dick called.

Damian stilled, turning his head to look over his shoulder.

The mall was rife with people, he really should have known that he’d eventually run into someone he knew.

Dick was cheerfully striding up to them, dragging Tim along behind. He looked over Colin after a quick greeting. “You look taller,” he commented.

Colin grinned, shooting Damian a look. “Three inches.”

Damian glowered. “We have a movie to get to,” he stated before anymore conversation could be had.

“Oh yeah, what movie?” Dick inquired.

“I will tell you later,” Damian answered, hauling Colin off. He missed the amused looks Dick and Tim shared. He was now dreading going home. He would never hear the end of it.

The scenario played over and over in his head. Dick would point out how short he was and how tall Colin had gotten. Tim would looking pityingly at him. Jason would demand details and his father would look disappointed that his own son had remained so short.

That night, Damian arrived home as quietly as possible. He stole up to his room, refusing to come out until dinner.

When Alfred called down for him, he hesitated before going down.

Things didn’t play out the way he expected them to. Instead, Dick had just asked what movie he’d seen and then launched into his tirade that Tim wouldn’t let him buy the perfect peacock patterned shirt. To which the rest of the table had to quickly explain why Tim wasn’t in the wrong.

Damian sat back, confused. He hadn’t gotten teased for being shorter.

Maybe next time he could let Colin come over.

Maybe.


	8. Orphans on a Plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colin can't handle being on a plane.

Colin felt like he was going to throw up his own organs. He wasn’t built for this. Humans weren’t built for this. If they were meant to fly they’d have been born with wings.

“Wilkes, sit down,” Damian sighed for the hundredth time since they’d taken off.

“Sit down? Dude, we’re in the air in a giant metal tube. We could crash at any second and you think I’m just going to sit down.”

Damian frowned at him. “I’ve assured you before, you are very safe.”

Colin snorted, pacing down the aisle, weaving out of the bathroom and into the cockpit (despite pilot protests). “Safe he says. I punch thugs for a living and that’s a healthier lifestyle than being stuck in this death trap,” he muttered under his breath.

On his second pass by, Damian caught his arm and hauled him back into the seat. “My father designed this plane and I perfected it. There are thirty safety measures and forty back-ups. There is not anyway that this plane will fail you.”

Colin stared at him, trying to think of an argument. His panic was fading but it still lingered, threatening to make his venom kick in.

“To add to it,” Damian continued, “we’re only an hour from the landing. If you can settle for that long, you’ll be safe on ground again.”

Colin sighed quietly, sinking into his seat. “Fine, but next time we travel we’re either walking or driving.”

“Colin… You can’t drive to Israel from Gotham.”


	9. Perfect Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is very jealous of Damian spending so much time with Colin.

“Is it physically possible for a person to be that ridiculously unintelligent?”

Tim paused, looking up from his computer. “I am assuming you’re not talking to me,” he replied, arching an eyebrow at Damian.

Damian shot him a withering look. “You claim to understand Grayson. Tell me why he is acting like such a child.”

“When?”

“Not a short time ago. Weren’t you listening?” Damian’s frustration was mounting and he had somewhere to be in an hour. “He is refusing to let me go on my outing with Wilkes because, according to him, I am interrupting ‘our Friday night schedules’.”

Tim rested his chin in the palm of his hand, watching Damian pace around his desk. He stayed quiet, listening until he was sure Damian had finished.

“We have no schedules on Friday. And I have been out with Wilkes before. Where this immature and innane behavior is coming from, I haven’t the faintest clue.”

A small chuckle escaped Tim. It earned him one of the highest level glares Damian possessed. If there was one thing he hated, it was someone laughing at his misery.

Tim lifted a hand, placating. “Didn’t do it to offend. But you really don’t see it, do you?”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “If I did, do you honestly believe I would be down here?”

“I’m shocked you’re here at all.” Tim pushed away from his computer and stood. He straightened his shirt. “He’s jealous.”

Damian spluttered. “Jealous? Of a fifteen year old?”

Tim nodded, calmly gathering up his files. “You and Dick spend a lot of time together. He probably feels like he’s not going to be able to spend as much time with you as before.”

“Does he have the brain of a child?” Damian rubbed his temples.

“No, just the fears of one.”

“Why is he acting like that? It’s not like I’m dating Grayson.”

Tim’s hands stilled over the last file. He looked over at Colin solidly. “But you are dating Colin?”

Damian’s face tripped over twenty separate emotions before settling on blank. “What if we are?”

Tim shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. I rather like Colin. And I know Dick does too.”

“So why is he jealous?”

Tim stepped up in front of Damian. Already at fifteen, Damian was only an inch shorter than Tim. “I’ve already told you. He just feels like he’s going to lose time with you. You’re like a son to him and no father likes to lose a child. So, for Dick’s sake and for your sanity, try to set a day out just for the two of you.”

Damian sighed, shaking his head. “Fine.”

“But not Saturdays,” Tim said as he side-stepped Damian and started to head out of the Cave.

“Why not?”

Tim looked over his shoulder with an expression Damian was just starting to understand–-it was the same one Colin gave him whenever he spent the night. “Because Saturday is my day with him.”


	10. College Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College changes people.

“We should start a Fight Club.”

Damian paused and looked up from his textbook. Three months of being room mates with Colin meant Damian was very used to strange comments. This one just had be one of the weirder ones. He lowered his pen.

“Why should we do any such thing?”

The red head on the opposite bed sat up, staring at him. “What do you mean why? It’d be perfect. First off, we’d make tons of money. And secondly, during midterms and finals time it’d be the perfect stress relief.”

Damian sighed. “No, the perfect stress relief would be to not have to suffer through this moronic attempt at schooling.”

Colin rolled his eyes. He’d been hearing this speech since the term started. The only reason Damian was in college at all was because his father decided it was time to keep up social image. There was no way Bruce Wayne, play boy, billionaire could be seen with a son who had never gone to public school. It was disgraceful. Thus, despite his night life crime fighting, Damian had been enrolled in the Business program at Gotham University.

“If I had my way, I would not even be attending this school. I would be home–”

“‘Training under the sharp eye of your mentors.’ Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it. But you can’t train, so why not go with a fight club?”

Damian frowned. Even after eight years of a relationship, he still didn’t like to be interrupted. “Colin, if the ‘club’ is discovered your scholarship would be in jeopardy.”

Colin rocked his head back and forth. He’d heard this speech too. Everything could put his scholarship under stress. Apparently eating french fries could put his schooling into great harm. He waved the worry off. He knew he’d gotten lucky when he won the full scholarship for his Bio-Chemistry work. Still school wasn’t the end all be all of his life.

“Training could help me concentrate. You know better than anyone how exercise helps you think better. If we start this fight club we’d totally be able to study better. And so would other students,” Colin explained, lifting his hands for emphasis. “It could totally stop me from going to self-help groups instead.”

“You are no longer allowed to stay up watching your films,” Damian stated, looking back at his text book.

Colin huffed, dropping backwards on his bed. “Come on, Damian! It would be so awesome!”

Damian shook his head, focused on his homework. He was granted another hour of silence before Colin spoke up again.

“Not even going to consider it? I mean, this fight club would help other students how to fight. You could totally teach them. You like that.”

Damian dropped his pen to rub his temples. “Colin, you’re speaking as if the main character of that film didn’t have a major mental disability.”

“Split personality isn’t a big problem,” Colin said, a little too quickly.

Damian lifted an eyebrow and turned his body to face Colin. “I will not be any apart of your inane plan to create this club.”

Colin glared. They held each other’s gazes for a long tense minute. Then Colin look away, glare deepening. “Fine.” He pushed up off his bed. “I’m going to get something to eat,” he announced, making Damian blink.

Just as Colin was crossing by his bed toward the door, Damian caught his arm. “Colin,” he said, voice more of a warning than anything else.

Colin didn’t look at him.

Damian growled and yanked Colin down to his level. “Don’t be a fool,” he muttered before he tugged the other male in for a kiss.

Three weeks later, in an abandoned warehouse Bruce Wayne had unwittingly donated, a group of college students from every year and every area of study huddled around. Each exchanged looks of anticipation and nerves. That was until a rather excited red head and a grumpy black-haired boy stepped forward.

“Welcome to the first meeting of Gotham Uni Fight Club,” the red head started.


	11. Quick Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a special kind of person to watch someone else in a shower.

One day, Dick Grayson, the greatest superhero to ever hit Gotham was taking a shower. Half way through he felt something. A gut feeling, one might call it. He paused, one hand on his soap covered chest, the other sensually pulling his hair out of his face. It was oddly magnificent how easily he could look like a model when he was simply trying to understand a paranoid tick in his brain.

There was just no getting around it. He felt like he was being watched.

“Hello?” He called, stupidly. As if the person would answer. He glared at nothing for his own stupidity.

Of course, there was no returning call.

With a sigh, that pulled his perfect lips apart, he returned to cleaning his body. It had been a long night of patrol after all.

A minute later, he stopped again. This time, he was sure he had heard something. It sounded, to him, like heavy breathing. Labored pants that one only associated with a person engaged in sex. He frown, glorious mouth pulling down. He swallowed, a perfect column of a throat working around the motion.

He dropped a hand to sculpted thigh. “Seriously,” he mumbled. “Is there anyone there?” He called again in a voice that was pure masculinity.

The oddly sharp breathing disappeared. Dick’s shoulder’s tensed. This was getting too weird. There were only four people on Earth who could get into his apartment. One was in a wheelchair and hated him. One was asleep in bed, he knew for a fact because he had put Damian there an hour ago. One was dead and the other was in Europe on some crazy mission to find the dead one.

When no answer was returned, Dick finished rinsing himself and shut the water off. He stepped out of the shower in all his glory and snagged a towel off of the rack. Quickly drying himself, he was about to leave the bathroom when he noticed a sheet of paper on the counter.

Heart pounding in his ears, he reached over and lifted it. Another sheet came with, but he looked at the note first.

‘You should get better security. You never know who might pop by.’

Dick’s mouth dropped open. He knew that hand writing by heart. After reading countless mission reports and documents, there was no getting around it. Tim Drake had the neatest hand writing of any left-handed male he had ever met. He almost ripped the note in his haste to get at the other sheet.

It was a photo of himself, perfectly poised in the shower he had just been in. Water glistened off his skin, chasing ribbons of soap. His hair was pushed back in a way only found in magazines. And his face was the epitome of sex appeal. A shiver rolled down his spine.

“Fuck, Tim…” He muttered, crushing the paper in his hand. “You are the creepiest.”


	12. More Than A Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soccer is more than just a game in Tim Drake's household.

Once every four years something quite magical happened. Something that Dick Grayson would gladly pay money to see. Luckily for him, he didn’t and he was granted an entire day of pure, unadulterated entertainment. For you see, dear reader, Dick happened to have a younger sibling who was utterly steeped in the riveting world of soccer—or football depending on which side of the globe you find yourself reading this. And once every four years this horribly oppressed younger sibling throws himself into the welcoming arms of the FIFA World Cup.

“Hey Tim, where’s the Zesti?” Dick asked from the kitchen of Tim’s apartment.

There was a screech from the couch. “Seriously?! How you could give that a red card!” Tim threw his hands into the air and yelled at the poor referee on the television.

Chuckling to himself, Dick dipped into the refrigerator on the hunt for his drink. Behind him, he listened to Tim burst into rapid Italian. From what little he knew of the language, he knew Tim was not saying very nice things. Most of it seemed to be centered around David Beckham’s mother.

“Tim, it’s just a game,” he called, calmly.

That always got a shriek from Tim. Soccer was more than just a game. It was his life. Every four years, he would refuse the world around him, including patrol (yes, dear readers, soccer was just that important) and let all his frustrations out. Psychologically, it was a little scary. Virtually all the emotion Tim refused to let everyone else see was bottle for four years then released in one dizzying, ear-splitting yelling match with an unresponsive television set.

“It’s more than a game, Richard!” Tim shouted, his furious gaze held firmly to the screen.

Dick knew he was in trouble if Tim was using his full name. He found his soda and, after snagging it out of it’s hiding spot, he returned to the couch.

“Well, it’s just a European game. Come on, this is America. Let’s watch real foot ball,” he complained, leaning toward the remote.

His wrist was suddenly caught in a grip not even Batman could break. Honestly, he hadn’t even seen it coming.

“Touch that remote and I swear to Batman above you won’t have a hand left,” Tim growled, eyes barely flicking from the screen to his face.

There was silence then a loud cheer erupted from the television. Dick’s hand was released and Tim jumped up from the sofa, hollering and cheering with the best of them.

“That’s how you do it!” He laughed, punching the air in excitement. “Suck it Germany!”

Dick sat back, rubbing his wrist and smirking softly. He loved it when Tim got this excited. He loved seeing the brilliant red flush and bright smile he saw so rarely. His wrist could take the beating if it meant Tim was this happy. He laughed, watching Tim, basically, dance around the coffee table, cheering with all of England as their team advanced to the semi-finals.

Because, sweet little reader, soccer really is that big of a deal.


	13. Light In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after Identity Crisis - Dick tries to bring Tim back.

Everything was too familiar, too raw. It hurt too much and yanked at the edges of a barely healed wound like so many knives. He could feel the spindle-thin fingers digging into his flesh, tearing and slicing it open. It made his throat close and his stomach clench. Every muscle was tight, matching each unbearable thought. A rough, shuddering breath was yanked from his lungs, forcing the organs into something vaguely close to their jobs.

It hurt. It was still too soon.

“Tim?”

No, still too soon. In fact, he didn’t think it would ever be long enough. Not to face that. To face someone who he had so utterly ignored.

“Timmy, please, let me in.”

Impossible. His heart couldn’t take that. In fact, it thudded painfully against his ribs every time he entertained the idea. Right now, it was only barely fluttering to remind him he was still alive. Still fucking breathing when he most certainly didn’t deserve to be. Another one of those jagged breathes and God, was that him making that noise?

The knocking started but whether it was from the door or from the inside of his head, he had no idea. Wherever it was coming from, it was getting louder and it was starting to hurt. He bit at his lower lip, willing it to go away. Instead, he tasted copper. It was thick and it made the fluttering in his chest stop.

Blood.

There had been so much of it. He didn’t think someone could have that much blood. Suddenly, he was gasping, panting. His eyes were wide and yet totally blind. If things hurt before, it was nothing compared to this. This was pure torture. Sharp shards of pain shot up his hands, sending horrific messages to his brain, demanding that they be shut off. He wanted it to end. He wanted his body to quit. Most importantly, he wanted that screaming to stop.

When his throat had regained the ability to make that much noise, he wasn’t sure. But now, it was echoing in the room, demanding attention, stuttering around his panicked breathes and pants.

“Tim! God dammit Tim!”

The next thing he knew something, or rather, someone, very warm was wrapped around his shoulders. It was terrifying. He struggled, trying to pull away. Whatever this was needed to go away, to leave him alone. He jerked and yanked, shoving at whatever it was that choking him. Somewhere along the way, the screams had changed to words. And they seemed to be agreeing to his need to get this thing away.

“No, Tim, I’m not leaving.”

Not leaving? That couldn’t be possible! This thing had to leave. It had to go away. It hurt. It was pulling at his flesh, burning him. He could feel the thin strands holding his body together snapping and the resulting pain was making his head spin.

“Stop! Tim, just stop! You’re not breaking! It’s just me. It’s just Dick.”

Something in a very small part of his mind paused, tapping at all the deranged pieces and trying to get free. He knew that name and he knew what it made. The banging in his chest stuttered, making him choke and cough.

“D-dick…?” He mumbled, throat catching around the name, almost itching at the effort of normal speech.

The warmth around him tightened for a panic inducing second. And Tim would have blown up all over again, had Dick not continued to speak.

“Yes… It’s me. Tim, I’m here for you. Please, let me help.”


	14. Missing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Tim reflect.

“What do you miss about him?”

Dick paused, his hand stilling over Tim’s hair. He looked down at the teenager resting in his lap. It was the first time in three years that he’d gotten Tim to sit still and rest instead of trying to be out saving the world and bringing back the dead.

“About who?”

There was a shift and Tim looked up at him. More than once Dick was struck by the color, by the forced of a single expression. Now he had gotten socked in the jaw and then commanded to stay still.

“Bruce.”

Dick’s throat tightened. He’d been hoping that Tim would avoid that red flag. Bruce, Batman, Red Robin, all of it he wished he could change. But where he had accepted the line of things, Tim hadn’t. He’d gone insane with this horrid notion that Bruce was still alive and only he, Tim Drake, could find him. Still he didn’t want for the teenager to leave because he didn’t indulge a moment.

“His voice,” Dick finally answered.

Tim’s head turned away from him again and Dick took his opportunity to keep brushing his hair.

“I liked his voice too.”

Dick’s eyes closed for a brief moment.

“What else?”

He opened his eyes. “His patience.”

Tim’s silence, in anyone else would have been a prompt to stop. For Tim, it meant Dick was welcome to continue.

“Actually… I miss a lot of things,” he whispered, his hand tightening. “I miss him, Tim. More than I’d care to admit.”

More silence, then a very gentle nod. And that, more than anything, told Dick he was allowed to miss his father. He could take the mantle of the bat. But, more than anything, he could hope that Tim was right.


	15. Handle Me Softly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CIA AU - Dick is a CIA agent and Tim is his handler.

Tim always wore headphones, partially for privacy but mostly because the left earbud always blasted music at him offering him a chance to sink into his own thoughts without interruption. When he was younger he’d pretended he was a character in a movie and all the different songs were just another blip on his soundtrack. Now that he was a mature adult with a serious job that involved the lives of thousands of people, he still pretended he was in a movie. Sometimes though, the music matched up a little too perfectly with his pounding heart.

The screen illuminating Tim’s face in harsh shades of blues and whites was the only source of light in the entire room. It cast the opulent hotel room in ghastly shadows, dropping Tim into a world of terror; a world he didn’t seem to notice. Tim’s slender fingers flew over the keys, brows furrowed and jaw set in a harsh line.

“Dick, don’t you mess this up. I’ve spent weeks trying to get you an opening,” Tim hissed, the words skipping in the mic resting against his cheek.

A smooth chuckle sounded in his ear. On the screen a cheeky grin was flashed up to the security camera footage Tim had playing in the top corner.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got this,” Dick murmured.

Tim rolled his eyes, locking them onto the line of coding covering the right side of his screen. He knew becoming Dick Grayson’s handler was going to be the death of him. The man was childish, brash and determined to end every mission with a bang. He went through Handlers like a starved man goes through a loaf of bread. No one had managed to stick with him for more than one or two jobs. Despite that, he was one of the best agents that the CIA had to offer. And Tim was the best Handler that the agency had at their disposal.

Three missions later, the two of them had remained a solid team. Tim had had more than his fair share of headaches, but he’d stayed because his tolerance level was bordering sainthood.

Currently stuck in Moscow, Russia with the only agent with the penchant for James Bond-style explosions, that same tolerance was being heavily tested.

“My cameras can’t follow you into the lower levels,” Tim stated, pulling up windows of countless pieces of information. “Stay on the radio and I’ll get you into the safe.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Dick replied, the amusement clear in his voice.

“Don’t laugh, this is serious,” Tim said, eyes narrowing briefly. Not a second later, Dick disappeared from his range of his vision. He swallowed a small lump of nerves. Radio-only contact was the one thing that made him wary and sure a job was going to fail.

“I’m not laughing,” Dick chortled. “You’ve just gone over this a thousand times. I’m sure we’ve got this down perfectly. So… Right or left?”

Tim snorted, resisting the urge to roll his eyes a second time. “Perfectly, huh? You should go left. It’ll take you to a locked door, but that’s already bypassed. Head down the stairs to the freight elevator.”

“You are an angel,” Dick hummed before going quiet to follow the instructions.

The blueprints lining Tim’s screen offered every piece of information about the building Dick was in, but absolutely nothing in way of safety. Tim had triple checked the movements of the guards but he still couldn’t account for random variables. For now, he had to trust Dick and their plans to get them through to the end of the mission. That, more than anything, set Tim on edge.

“Okay, I’m taking this elevator down to the sewer levels, right?” Dick asked, cutting into Tim’s thoughts.

“Right,” Tim acknowledged. “Radio might be sketch down there, so I might lose you. But so long as you keep to the edge of the corridor and get to the offices without alerting anyone, we should be good.”

“Alert everyone and run down the middle, got it,” Dick joked, which only earned him a long suffering sigh from Tim.

With Dick out of eyesight, Tim was forced to work on other reports and documents to cover his time. It was either that or sit chewing at his nails hoping Dick wasn’t about to get into trouble.

“I think I’m in trouble,” Dick whispered.

Tim blinked, stilling for a moment. “What? Why?”

“There is a guard, literally, three feet in front of me. I can’t get around him,” Dick explained. A small rustling of fabric followed his words and Tim could just imagine him peering around a corner. “I thought you said they should be on change over right now.”

“They should be,” Tim answered, clicking through his windows. “I mean, there is nothing in my notes. Can’t you just knock him out?”

Dick lapsed into a silence for a moment. “I could. Give me a second, Tim.”

Tim pulled his lower lip between his teeth, fighting the concern building between his shoulders and threatening to travel up into a headache. He turned his music down and opened a new channel to listen to the guard’s radios. He listened to the men complain about the state of job security in Russia. Nothing too alarming.

“Tim, I can’t,” Dick came back on. “There is another guard. If I take this one down, that one will notice me.”

“Okay, okay, that’s fine,” Tim soothed, more for himself than Dick’s emotional well being. “I’ll find you a new route.”

“Hurry, Tim. Those guys are moving and I’m not in the best hiding spot in the world.”

Tim looked over the blueprints, new plans and ideas forming in the space of seconds. He’d once been praised as the Agency’s most innovative thinker. Right now, the small award paper stuck to his office wall back in the States did nothing to comfort him.

“Okay, I’ve found something. Dick–”

“I don’t have time! I have to book it,” Dick got out, noises echoing behind him that promised nothing more than spilt blood and broken bones.

“What? Dick, where are you going? If you’re compromised just get out of here!”

“Nope, we’ve come too far. I’m going! You’re–”

Something hard and sharp shot through the radio call, making Tim wince. As soon as it’s echos had disappeared, silence dropped over the connection.

“Dick?” Tim called, lifting a hand to his ear as if pressing it closer to his head would increase his chances of an answer. “Dick, answer me. I told you I found a way out.”

When no one answered, not his agent nor a villain determined to play games with them, Tim’s stomach churned fast and hard. He flipped through security cameras, looking for alerts and system alarms. All he got was silence from every angle.

“Shit, shit,” he muttered, knee bouncing in anxiety. “Dick, come on. I am not calling home office to find your next of kin.”

There was no comfort to be found in the plethora of windows that littered his computer screen. Suddenly, the dark hotel room was oppressive, hiding a thousand and one enemies determined to lock Tim in place. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the loaded pistol Dick had left on the bed, ‘just in case’.

Tearing the earpiece out of his ear, Tim lurched out of his chair and over to the gun. He knew he was loaded but he still had to check four times just to be sure. He’d gone over the building details so many times he could have done the mission by himself. If Dick didn’t answer within the next two minutes, he’d just go down himself and find the agent.

Even as the idea formed, Tim knew it was a bad one. He paced, gun clutched in his hands. The computer started to flicker, showing him that alarm had finally been raised in Dick’s building. Of the one hundred guards on duty that night, ninety-nine of them would be flooding down to stop the intruder. The final guard would be tasked with getting the data out of the building and to a safe house nearly two thousand miles away.

Tim swallowed. He was a better handler than this. He could keep calm in a ridiculous number of situations. This should not have been the moment when that skill lapsed. The gun tumbled back to the bed. He dropped back into his seat, shoving the radio back into his ear and dropping his hands back to the keyboard. With the music blaring a beat to match his racing heart, he flew through his codes. He could get the building on lock down and the surrounding streets on high alert. If anything, that would slow down the data removal and give Dick time to get out.

“Dick, please, come on,” Tim muttered, throat tight as he glared at his screen.

The alarms stopped and Tim’s screen stopped flashing. His work paused, his frown shifting into the ‘confused’ territory. Dick still hadn’t come back on the radio but the alarm had been called down. That could only been one of two things and both of them ended with an unmarked tombstone in Fairfax, Virginia.

“Dick?” Tim hazarded, shakily lifting his hand back up to his ear. “Dick, are you there? Come on, seriously.”

Nothing answered him or came on to settle the panic bubbling in his stomach. Tim pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, digging in until static burst under his eyelids. He sucked in a breath that only made him dizzy and barely filled his lungs. Dropping his hands, he considered the gun again.

“I can go,” he muttered. “I could find him and bring him back. We knew this mission would be bad, Bruce can’t fault me for going back.”

Except going back went against every rule that the Agency had to offer. Bruce would fault Tim, both for going back and for potentially losing both members of the best team. Not only that, Bruce would find out how attached Tim had become and that, was the number one no-no on the big list of no-no’s that Bruce could spout off in seconds.

“Oh, fuck Bruce,” Tim grumbled. “Just because the one person he became attached to turned out to be an international terrorist with an insane father doesn’t mean the rest of us should suffer.”

Tim pulled himself out of his chair for a second time. The radio tugged at his ear, falling out when he ignored it to grab the gun again. He could do this, in fact, he had to do this.

Just as Tim was sliding the gun into the holster at the base of his spine, the door opened and someone tumbled inside. Tim jumped, stepping back quickly, hands raised innocently.

“Damn… That kind of smarts,” Dick muttered, dropping onto his back.

Tim blinked, mind shuttering to a halt. His hands lowered slowly as he mumbled, “Dick..?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Dick said with a smile aimed at the dark ceiling.

Instantly, Tim bristled. He rushed over to the prone man, all but slamming the door shut. He grabbed the front of Dick’s jacket, taking in the proximity burns and knife cuts that littered the expensive fabric. Not at all gently, Tim shook the other man until he coughed out a laugh.

“Easy with the shaking, Tim, I come baring gifts and injuries,” Dick informed him, laying a bleeding hand over one of Tim’s.

Tim glared. “You idiot, why did you go silent on me? I thought you died or, worse, been captured! I was this close to coming to finding you!” He spat, hands white knuckled over the fabric.

Dick lifted his head to better look at him. He smiled so gently, even his blue eyes seemed to soften. His free hand moved to dip under Tim’s jacket, tugging the gun out. “You were pretty close, huh? But don’t worry, I’m here.”

“Don’t worry he says,” Tim scoffed, wrenching his hands free and leaning back. He crossed his arms over his chest. “While I’ve been doing nothing but worrying for the last hour. You piece of shit.”

An easy laugh rolled off of Dick’s tongue. He set the gun aside before pulling a small data chip out of his coat pocket. He waved it in front of Tim’s nose.

“I don’t want the data,” Tim snapped, snatching the chip out of Dick’s hand and getting to his feet.

“Not even a little?” Dick asked, accepting the hand Tim offered to help him to his feet.

“Not even. I want a partner who stays on the radio and doesn’t do stupid things. Who doesn’t think he’s James Bond,” Tim complained, moving to set the chip in a secure case. He all but slammed the laptop shut. “I want an agent that isn’t determined to finish every mission with a literal explosion.”

Dick trailed behind Tim, listening with a faintly amused expression. When the tirade seemed to slow, he reached forward to grasp Tim’s shoulder. He turned the young man too him.

“Hey, I’m fine. And I got your data chip.”

Tim’s face wavered, eyes briefly losing their intensity. At any other moment, Dick would have taking the time to admire the face that had stopped criminals in their tracks and the mouth that could spit out words like bullets. Right then, however, he yanked Tim against his chest and dropped his forehead against the shorter man’s shoulder.

“I got the data chip. I finally finished a mission right,” Dick repeated.

There was a tense silence as Tim didn’t move or speak. Finally, slowly, he lifted his arms around Dick, turning his face into the man’s neck.

“I don’t care about the data chip. I just want you to come back to me,” Tim whispered.

“And I did.”

“I want you to come back to me every time, without disappearing into silence first,” Tim clarified, tugging Dick’s hair.

Dick smiled into Tim’s shoulder. He pulled back carefully, lifting a hand to tilt Tim’s face upward.

“If that is what you want, Mr. Handler,” Dick said.

“That is what I want, Mr. Agent,” Tim replied.

Another one of those too-easy laughs left Dick before he crushed his lips to Tim’s.


	16. Keep It Secret, Keep It Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CIA AU Pt. 2 - Another drabble for the CIA Agent Dick and Handler Tim AU.

There are a large number of pros and cons when it comes to working with the best agent in the field. Every mission can be an expected success, but there will almost always be a disturbing amount of bumps, bruises and insults along the way. Some days it was hard to say which out-weighed the other.

This was one of those days.

“Dick, I’ve already told you–”

“I know, I know. Down the stairs to the left,” Dick chirped into Tim’s ear piece.

“Well, if you knew then why do you keep asking?” Tim’s eyes were narrowed at his computer screen, the only thing lit in the entire room. He’d been watching Dick’s vitals like a hawk for the past four hours.

“Maybe I just like to hear your voice,” Dick replied, sounding pleased with himself even as the words came out.

Tim snorted. He was tired, irritated and hungry. No one should have to be stuck in a single room for a whole week with nothing more than a cocky voice for company. His tolerance levels were hitting the breaking point and he did not want to sit through more of Dick’s flirtations.

When Dick didn’t get an answer, he sighed. “Okay, I’m going down the stairs. Don’t stop taking to me,” he muttered. There was a quiet shuffle from his end.

“Watch out for the security sequence when you get to the end of the hall,” Tim reminded.

Silence lapsed over the pair. From one end, Tim was tapping away at his computer, setting up files, reports and forcing his way into a computer system that was less than willing. On the other side, Dick was sliding his way through shadows, steps light and careful.

They really only had one shot to do this.

Otherwise an entire week would be wasted. There was nothing Tim hated more than useless work.

“I’m through the door. Now…”

Tim frowned as Dick trailed off. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Uhm… Isn’t something supposed to be here?” Dick asked.

“Well… Yes. Is it not there?”

Dick sighed heavily. “Obviously it’s not. Hold on, I’m going to do some searching.”

Another suspension of sound, but this time Tim didn’t work on his reports. He sat, frowning at his map wondering what exactly had happened.

“Uhm…”

“Again? What is it this time?”

“There’s a note.”

Tim swallowed. Notes were never a good thing. Especially in this business. “What’s it say?”

“Something about CIA dogs… I don’t know enough, whatever this is.”

Tim groaned. “Come back to base. I’ll take a look at it.”

“Sure thing, boss. And hey,” Dick added. “Don’t sound too down. I want to see a happy computer geek when I get home.”

Tim rolled his eyes. And from the chuckle Dick gave, he knew it was happening.


	17. Different Prespective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dick/Tim + Body Swap

The first thing Tim realized was the fact that he had a sudden, gnawing craving for cereal. Following that, he had a massive, splitting head ache.

With a groan, he rolled out of bed. His feet hit a floor covered in dirty clothes, newspapers, books and unidentifiables. It made him blink and pause. His room was immaculate, what had he woken up in?

“Master Richard,” Alfred called through the door, knocking lightly. “It’s well past noon, are you going to wake any time soon?”

Tim glanced quickly around the room. Not seeing the man in question, he decided to answer. “Yeah, he…” He stopped, blinking at the sound of his voice. Far deeper than normal and always tilting toward amusement, this was not the voice Tim Drake normally spoke with.

“Sir?”

“Ah, sorry. Yes, I’ll be out in a minute. Do we have any cereal?”

There was a pause from Alfred as if he was trying to figure out the change in Dick’s speech pattern. “You know we do, sir.”

“Great, I’ll be out in a bit,” Tim answered. He hurried into the bathroom right after, fearing the worst and getting exactly that.

He pressed his hands to his face, pushing at the skin. Eyes much bluer than he was used to blinked at him. He stretched, following the lines of lean muscle that were bulkier than anything he’d ever possessed.

“How on earth..?” He mumbled to himself. He turned his back to the mirror, looking over strong shoulders to observe his new backside. “It’s definitely Dick. I’m definitely Dick…”

The harsh ringing of the phone jerked him out of his observations. Not taking a second, he snatched it up.

“Tim?” Tim’s voice called over the phone but it had all the curious humor of Dick's normal cadence.

Did he really sound like that? His voice was much more nervous and high than he realized.

“Uh, Dick, I'm hoping” Tim answered in Dick’s voice.

“Whoa… Do I sound like that?” Dick asked, sounding impressed with himself.

“Uhm, yes?”

Tim’s voice chuckled in a very Dick-like way. “I sound like a sex-line operator.”

Tim sighed. “Not the time. Dick, I’m guessing you’re in my body.”

“Yeah. Speaking of, you need to eat and then see a doctor. I’m hungry and everything hurts.”

Tim grimaced. He could have gone a long time without Dick ever figuring out his constant health setting. “Not important. We need to find a way out of this.”

“Sure do. I’m coming over to the Penthouse.”

“All right. I’ll see you soon. Oh and Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“Prepare yourself to deal with Damian,” Tim warned before hanging up the phone.

This was going to be a long day.


	18. Mood Ruined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dick drew a stupid face on his penis as a joke a few days ago but it kind of wont come off and it totally spoils the mood with him and tim

Dick couldn’t remember the last time he’d manhandled himself this much. Maybe when he was fourteen and he’d seen Donna Troy coming out of the pool. But that had just been embarrassing. Not that this wasn’t either. He groaned.

“I am never playing Truth or Dare again,” he grumbled adding another glob to his hand. “Fucking, Roy and his weird ideas.” The stupid smiley face drawn over the skin of his penis mocked him. It laughed at him in a high nasally voice that threatened to tell all his neighbors about his weird hobbies.

It was almost painful how many times he’d tried to scrub it off. It was making his eyes water. Sex, he decided, would have to be very careful.

“Oh shit!” He remembered his plans that night. He bit his lip, looking at his shower curtain. “Uh, hey Tim!” He called, raising his voice over the crash of water.

“Yes, Dick?” Tim replied, muffled by the bathroom door and the, possible, blanket he had pulled over his head.

“Are we still on for tonight?”

There was a pause and Dick knew that a thousand thoughts had probably run through Tim’s mind. “Yes, why?”

“Uh, well…” Dick trailed off. He looked down between his legs.

“You’re not backing out, Dick!” Tim called. “It’s been two months since we’ve had anything close to a date!”

Dick sighed. “I know, I know! I was just making sure.” Giving up the smile-removal as a lost effort, he shut off the water and got out of the shower to dry off. “Are you ready for me?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Silently, Dick prayed that Tim gained temporary blindness, or just never looked down. He wrapped the towel around his waist. Stepping out of the bathroom, he stepped across the room. Despite his grievance, he crawled over Tim with a smirk.

“Took you long enough,” Tim stated, looking up at him from the pillows. He lifts his hands to trail over Dick’s sides. A pleased smile pulled over his face when Dick let out a sigh of enjoyment. His gaze swept down the man, pausing on the towel. “You’ve got something in the way.”

“I thought I could make it a surprise,” Dick offered lamely.

Tim arched an eyebrow. “A surprise? I’ve seen it before.” He curled his hand around the towel and tugged it off. He looked down and stopped.

A deeply unattractive noise, that could only be described as a snort, escaped Tim. He lifted his hand to his mouth, trying to stop his laughing. It wasn’t really working and only served to make him snort between his fingers.

“D-dick… What is that?”

Dick swallowed. “Uh, surprise?”


	19. Tied Up Late in Gotham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another night between Nightwing and Red Hood.

“Not too tight?”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Would it matter if I said yes?” He asked, arching an eyebrow at the man currently straddling his chest.

“No,” Jason replied instantly. He flicked the bonds holding Dick’s arms above his head. “But, I thought I’d ask.”

“What’s gotten you in such a kind mood?”

Jason shrugged, moving down Dick’s body to make sure that the ties around his ankles were still secure. “It must be the Christmas spirit.”

“That’s four months away,” Dick sighed before wincing as the ropes were tightened, pulling his legs further apart.

“Are you complaining?” Jason frown at him, tossing the rest of the ropes over his shoulder. He shifted around, lifting a strip of black cloth. “Now or later?”

Dick considered, “now.”

Happily complying, he leaned forward and draped the cloth over Dick’s eyes and tied it. “Open your mouth,” he commanded once he felt the fabric was good enough. He waited patiently while Dick opened his mouth. He pushed a wad thick fabric into the other male’s mouth. A pleased smile pulled over Jason’s face.

“You have no idea how could you look right now,” he sighed, dragging blunt nails down Dick’s exposed chest. He chuckled at Dick’s shudder. “You’re twisted, Dickie bird. I’m shocked it’s taken you this long to figure it out.”

He gave a soft sigh and leaned down to lick a long stripe up Dick’s stomach. When Dick shivered, he bit down into the yielding flesh. A sharp moan was muffled by the gag. He laughed softly, sucking on Dick’s skin. He loved to see the marks blossom over previously smooth skin.

“I would suggest not moving, Dickie,” he cooed, reaching across the bed to grab a sex toy from the nightstand. “It might make it worse.” He took a moment to suck on the toy, making some of the most obscene noises he could.

Below him, Dick writhed at the noises alone. Sometimes, the imagination was almost far better than the reality. Just when his mind could really blow things out of proportion, he felt something cold press against his entrance. Just as a grunt of irritation left him, the toy shoved inside. His hips bucked upward.

Jason chuckled. “I thought you would like that,” he cooed, scratching down Dick’s chest again. He was very careful to catch his blunt nails on Dick’s pert nipples. His other hand carefully pulled the larger than was strictly necessary toy out before shoving it back in.

Dick groaned loudly, not even the gag could stop that noise. His body jerked and shivered with each thrust.

“I’m going to make you come just like this,” Jason hissed, leaned down to capture Dick’s neck in his mouth. He bit down and thrust in at the same time, making the gag catch another loud cry. He laughed against the steadily bruising flesh. In a moment of kindness, he licked the mark, before shifting just slightly and finding another spot to blemish.

Dick jerked under him, pulling at the bonds on his wrists. He just wanted to touch his aching manhood. It was driving him insane.

As if sensing his need, Jason pressed backwards, his jean clad ass rubbing against Dick’s erection. With just very careful shifts of his hips, he dragged the harsh material of his pants across highly sensitive flesh.

Dick whined loudly and Jason laughed.

His hand twisted sharply and shoved the toy further in. Dick’s hips bucked up against him, shuddering and twitching.

“Calm yourself, big bird,” Jason breathed into his ear. “You’re getting embarrassing.”

Still, Jason didn’t slow his movements. He marred Dick’s skin with his teeth, thrust into the tight heat and rolled his hips back against the leaking cock. Every moment was based solely on the fact that he wanted Dick to lose his mind. And it was absolutely working. The gag was having the toughest time keeping the noises to a minimum. The bed creaked with ever harsh tug Dick gave to his bonds.

“Just let go, Dickie,” Jason cooed, licking at his jaw.

That was enough. With a scream that almost forced the fabric out of his mouth, Dick came on the back of Jason’s jeans. His body jerked and shuddered into oblivion.

As the last waves of pleasure left his system, Jason sat up and pulled the toy out. He tossed it to the side. He looked over his shoulder and frowned at his ruined pants.

“You’ve ruined my pants,” he stated. Looking back to Dick, he pulled the blindfold off. He glared. “You can now work your own way out of this.” He laughed as Dick’s eyes widened and he shimmied out of his pants. He dropped them over Dick’s stomach. “Next time, don’t question my kindness. Have a nice night.”

Giving his most cheerful wave and smile, Jason slipped out the window. Silence dropped over the room, then, just barely muffled by the gag, Dick cursed.


	20. Final Reasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He did it because he cared and that's all that matters.

He wasn’t sure why he didn’t seriously regret his choice. By all rights, he should by laying in the pool of his own blood bemoaning the world. And yet… He was doing the exact opposite. Silently, he was praying that everything would be alright that they would be safe. His world was dimming around him again and it was getting very hard to breathe but he knew he was going to be okay.

After all, he’d been through this before.

Death wasn’t so bad, not really. He’d done it once he could do it again.

What mattered was that someone, who had never seen it, would never have to.

He pulled in a shuddering breath.

There had to be some deep psychological reason why he wasn’t more upset about this. Some burning creature clawing from the depths of his half-dying soul that demanded to know why he wasn’t cursing the man who had caused this. In a strange way, he had every right to.

Which was meant to say, he had absolutely no right to complain.

He had done this to himself. He had chosen, for once, to play hero. And this is what it had gotten him a bullet in the heart and the rain beating down on his face. He had picked this and he couldn’t be happier.

Dick didn’t need to die, didn’t deserve to. There were so many people counting on him. So many other lives that needed him. As much as he hated to say it, this world needed Dick Grayson far more than it did Jason Todd.

There was only one thing he greatly wished and that was Dick would be perfectly okay. After tonight, the greatest man to hit Gotham city would walk away perfectly unharmed. That’s all he wanted and no amount of complaining about his station in life was going to stop that.

He sighed softly, allowing his world to darken.

For the first time in his life, he realized why he did what he did. Why it had taken him until three minutes before the end, he had no idea. Honestly, he should have figured it out sooner. It might make this whole “dying alone thing” a little easier to bear. But then, he’d done it once, he’d do it all over again.

“Jason!”

Oh, don’t cry, really, please don’t. That would only make it that much harder to leave. And he had already prepared himself for it. He was ready to end it again. Plus, crying over a dying hero was always painful to watch.

“Jason! Don’t you dare die on me!”

There was brief warmth as Dick’s hands trailed over his face but it was quickly destroyed by the fact that tears were hitting his cheeks.

“Jason, please! Why did you have to do that?”

Dick was begging for an answer. A reason as to why he had gone out of his way to save his life.

But, he really didn’t have the strength to give one.

Slowly, almost painfully so, he lifted a hand that was instantly grabbed by much warmer ones.

“Please, Jason,” Dick whispered at him. “Why?”

Jason smiled, feeling the blood pull at his lips. “Because you’re my brother,” he stated, voice harsh and fading quickly. “And I love you.”


	21. Warm Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is nothing better than a warm welcome from your favorite pet.

“Master?”

Had it not been for the fact that he has lost his gun not two hours earlier, Jason Todd would have, most assuredly shot someone in the face. Specifically, the man draped languidly across his couch. He glared at the male, letting the smooth muscles and sensual expression affect his mood. He needed something to distract him, after all.

“Master?” The man repeated, when he didn’t get an answer. He shifted, curling himself up and off of the couch in a motion so fluid it couldn’t possibly be human.

In fact, it wasn’t. The movement was entirely feline, all controlled grace and sexuality piled into the perfect human form. Jason had been lucky to find this feline. For one thing, they came hellishly expensive. For another, this one was a rare breed. A black leopard was considered to be a one in million chance of availability. And yet, Jason had found one hiding under his car.

“Dickie,” Jason sighed. “Why aren’t you wearing clothes?”

Not that he minded, after all, it meant that he could easily appreciated Dick’s finely, sculpted form. His eyes trailed from a slender neck, over a taut stomach and all the way down two luxurious legs. The calmly flicking, jet black tail was the only distraction. Well, that and the deceptively heavy looking ears that rested in thick, dark locks of hair at the top of Dick’s head.

Dick shrugged, the motion pulling Jason’s gaze to the careful flex of shoulders. “I thought that you could use some cheering up,” he replied, a light purr curling behind his words. He lifted a clawed hand to trace Jason’s jaw. “Am I wrong?”

A barely suppressed shudder rolled through Jason’s body. “Not entirely wrong,” he answered. He dropped a hand onto Dick’s warm hip, tugging him close. “What else did you have planned?”

Dick’s purr pitched faster, blue slitted eyes glittering. “Whatever you wanted… Master,” he nearly growled the last word, letting it flow over Jason’s ears, drawing him in on pure sex.

This time the shudder couldn’t be stopped. His grip tightened briefly on Dick’s hip before he jerked back. “Get on your knees,” he commanded.

With a question to authority, Dick dropped to the floor, his gaze never leaving Jason’s face. Jason’s hand dropped down to caress his cheek. If there was one thing Jason loved about his pet, it was his skin. It was softer than human skin and almost like silk. He just loved to see it ruined.

“Touch yourself,” he stated.

There was no hesitation, Dick’s hand moved across his stomach, fingers scraping across toned flesh.

“Push harder.”

Dick’s eyes flicked up before dropping back to his hand. He let out a small hiss as his sharp nails caught his nipples. He bit his lower lip, long teeth digging into the soft flesh. His tail thumped against the floor, a sign of pleasure and irritation. The harsh pants above him told him that he was doing it right. He dragged sharp lines down his stomach, angry red lines following it. Finally, his hand curled around his half-hardness.

Jason’s hand tightened on his face, pulling a small groan from his throat. “Stroke it.”

Dick sighed as he started to drag his hand over his length. In a matter of moments, he was fully hard and groaning at the touches. His head bowed, he couldn’t stop the panting moans rolling out of his mouth. He could feel the heat pooling in his stomach and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer.

“Stop,” Jason snapped at him.

Shock stilled his hand and he looked up. “M-master?” He panted, his hand slowly moving away from his weeping cock. His ears twitched forward when Jason didn’t say anything right away.

“Prepare yourself,” Jason stated. He moved his hands to his clothes and started to pull them away.

Dick lifted his hand to his mouth and carefully covered his fingers. Even after how much they had done this, it still burned. Once he decided himself covered, he moved his hand down between his legs. Balanced on his knees, he slipped two fingers inside. Dropping his teeth back into his lower lip, he stretched himself.

Jason groaned, his hands twitching on his belt as he tried to remove it. “Fuck, little pet,” he huffed. “You’re so fucking… God.” He finally got his pants down and off. Jason dropped to the floor, grabbed Dick’s wrist and tugged.

“M-master! Don’t!” Dick said hurried, Jason’s hand pulling at him in the strangest way.

Jason’s eyes flashed at him. “Don’t you tell me what to do,” he growled, jerking Dick’s hand away, ignoring the sharp hiss of pain it earned him. He shoved Dick onto his back. “You are not the master here.” He pushed Dick’s legs apart and lined his straining cock with the prepared entrance.

“Cry for me, pet,” he cooed into Dick’s soft ears just as his hips snapped forward.

Never one to ignore an order, Dick’s back arched and he let out a shriek. Another cry quickly followed. Jason wasn’t giving him a chance to adjust, his hips thrusting forward at a brutal pace. Each thrust pulled at his body, rocking him against Jason’s warmth and the unforgiving floor. One move hit that bundle of nerves inside of Dick and he dropped off of the edge with a scream.

Jason groaned loudly, his teeth sinking into Dick’s shoulder. The tight heat of his pet clamped down around him, almost completely stilling his movement. He couldn’t stop himself. The heat was too much and, try as he might, he followed Dick into oblivion. He filled Dick to brim, relishing the feel of it spilling out and between their joined bodies.

“Master…” Dick panted, his tail thumping lazily against the floor again. “Do you feel better?”

This time Jason was the one who was purring. Any bad night could be better when the perfect pet was waiting at home.


	22. It Came From Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr's @incogneat-oh's head-canon: ⚡ When Jason was Robin, he used to greet Dick by tackling him.

Dick didn’t know what to think of the small male wearing what used to be his symbol. And after the sixth greeting like that he probably never would.

It had to be from a life of growing up on the streets.

That’s the only reason for someone so young to act so strange and so aggressively. And Dick knew aggressive, he’d spent most of his developmental years in the circus. He knew what was odd and what was considered threatening.

But Jason took it to a whole new level.

Or maybe Jason was just trying to prove a point. To show that he was worthy of the title of ‘Robin’. That he was strong and Dick didn’t need to be so upset anymore.

Well, if that was the thought process, he could have found a less violent and more productive way of proving things to Dick.

As it were, things didn’t look like they were going to change anytime soon. Dick was either just going to have to be more on guard or constantly wearing protective armour.

“Dick!” Jason shouted at him from across the cave.

Dick turned slowly, wary. It still wasn’t enough to stop the small male from slamming into his chest at top speed.

A sharp grunt escaped Dick and they both tumbled to the floor.

“Alfred says you’re staying for dinner,” Jason stated, despite their uncomfortable positions on the floor. “Oh and, hey.”

Dick snorted, fighting amusement. As mad as he was at Bruce, he had to admit this was something nice to keep coming back to.

“Hey yourself kiddo.”


	23. Liberating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Someone walks in on Dick exercising naked."

There was something insanely glorious about moving around without clothes on. Just wearing underwear was nice, sure, but wearing nothing at all was even better. Dick could stretch as freely as he wanted to and not worry about the irritating pull of fabric.

It was rare that he had the Penthouse completely to himself. Damian was out with Colin and Alfred had gone shopping. That meant Dick had at least two hours to himself and could do anything he wanted, within reason anyway. Like any sane human being, he got rid of the clothes almost as soon as the door had closed behind Alfred.

Dick bent over his leg, feeling the stretch in his lower back and thigh. It felt amazing. Being Batman was more stressful than he realized. How Bruce did it for so long was a constant mystery.

There was a small noise behind him. It made him pause for a second. He straightened out of his stretch. A tiny frown pulling over his face. Not hearing another sound, he shrugged and moved back into it.

By his fifth stretch, he was very sure that someone else was in the room. A strange feeling of pride curled in his stomach. He knew he had a good body and, every once in awhile, he loved to show it off.

“Very nice Dickie,” Jason purred, stepping further into the room.

Dick arched back, smirking at the upside down Jason. “Why, Jason. How very nice to see you.”

“I could say the same,” he replied with a very obvious look over Dick’s taut form.

Dick chuckled, standing up again.

“No, no. Don’t stop for me,” Jason said, gesturing for him to continue.

There was a pause. Dick always did like an audience. He shifted into his next set of stretches. This time he purposely showed off the flexibility that he was famous for. It was dizzying to know he was the reason Jason’s breathing was catching like that.


	24. Moments Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone needs a place of warmth.

“You look lost, my son.”

Roy jerked and looked around. His half drunk, tired gaze landed on a tall, slender priest. He frowned, scrubbing at his face to wake himself up. Only the vaguest memories of the previous night were coming back to him. Something about drinking way too much and not able to stand long enough to hail a cab back home before finally dumping himself on the steps of a small church. Or at least, that’s what he managed to gather from the blurry images.

“I ain’t lost, priest man,” he grumbled. “I know right where I am.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Roy saw the man shift to step closer. “And just where is that?” He asked.

“It’s in front of a church, moron.”

The priest chuckled and, to Roy’s utter amazement, he settled down on the steps as well. “And why are you in front of a church?”

For the first time, Roy turned to face the priest. What he saw was nothing like he expected. The priest was young, for one thing, with a sharp fox-like face. With sly blue eyes and an almost constant smirk, it was hard to believe that he was a man of god.

“I… I’m not sure…” He finally admitted. He couldn’t stop himself from answering truthfully. The priest was giving him a soul piercing gaze that was hard to get away from.

“Tell me your name,” he stated, less question and more command.

Roy swallowed. “Roy. Roy Harper,” he said.

“Jason,” the priest answered. He braced his hands on his knees and stood up. “Would you like to come inside?” He asked and the stare he gave Roy declared that he couldn’t say no.

Roy shoved himself to his feet, working hard to keep himself steady. The priest offered no help to steady him and he didn’t expect him to. He followed Jason into the small church.

The building was humble, with only a few rows of benches and gentle glowing candles set along the wall. But, the stain glass window blew everything else away. It was floor to ceiling with a gentle image of the Virgin Mary, her arms out stretched welcoming everyone into her embrace. The colors were all calming and soft. It was the most inviting thing Roy had ever seen.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Jason commented from behind him.

Roy nodded, absently, not taking his eyes off of her.

“You know, Mother Mary was supposed to be the most welcoming woman. She accepted everyone and was willing to listen.” Jason stepped up next to him, his gaze locked on Mary’s face. “I believe everyone needs a place of peace. Don’t you?”

Roy’s gaze dropped to the ground before shifting to Jason. He frowned slightly. “I suppose.”

“Do you have that place, Roy?” Jason looked at him, for once his expression kind.

Roy swallowed. “I don’t…” He snorted. “And I don’t need one.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Mary, as if it was her fault his life and had turned out that way.

Jason chuckled, that not so innocent smirk back on his face. “Of course you don’t.” He turned away. “Well, I have an hour until a service. You’re welcome to stay.” He paused to lift a hymnal book off of the floor and set it on a bench. “Although, you’re welcome whenever as well.”

The priest brushed off the front of his robes. “Just don’t fall asleep on my stairs again, Mr. Harper.” He shot an annoyed look over his shoulder before turning and striding through the church to a door by the altar.

For a long time Roy stood and stared at Mary and her open arms. Finally, he snorted, uncrossed his arms and left the church.

Three days later he returned to the welcoming embrace of Jason and Mary. A month after that, he was a regular. Jason never questioned, he never explained and every visit meant a nice meal. Roy had found his place, how ever much he denied a need for it.


	25. Truck Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Topeka, Kansas and Jason isn't happy.

Roy pulled in a deep breath. There was nothing quite like the air that permeated American truck stops. It was like old leather, grease and wheat rolled around in stale junk food. And all the gas he could tolerate rested just under that horrifically singular smell.

“So, where are we again?” He asked, turning to look at Jason.

“Topeka, Kansas,” Jason answered primly. He hated truck stops. They were always out in the middle of no where with people he barely knew. It was like walking into a warehouse with a bomb, if he had to compare it to anything.

“And we’re here why?”

Jason sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I told you, we’re stopping for food and gas.”

“Right, right. But why here..?” He was already moving inside the small diner.

Jason rolled his eyes, not bothering with an answer. He followed Roy inside. One glance around the place told him it was stereotypical Middle America with truck drivers and plump waitresses with big hair. One of the waitresses, a rather older woman and far too much make-up was guiding Roy to a booth.

She was chatting far too easily with the archer, Jason decided. Either way, he slid into the seat across from Roy.

“So the special is Peacon pie?” Roy asked, eyes wide. The expression wouldn’t have been out of place on a five year old.

The woman nodded. “It is. But only if y'all get the country fried steak,” she said, voice accented with the turn that only Middle America could manage.

Roy grinned at her. “I’d love that, Darla.”

“And what about you, sweetie?” She asked, looking at Jason.

“Just coffee,” he answered briskly.

Roy shook his head slightly when she looked like she would press for more. She headed off. Roy looked over at Jason.

“You know, we could have stopped at a fast food joint if it bothers you.”

Jason shrugged. He was rather used Roy trying to mollify him. At this point it had gotten a little old. “It’s fine. We needed to get out of the car anyway. You were threatening to start shooting hay bales.”

Roy grinned like the winner he believed he was.

Of course, he certainly felt like one. He’d gotten Jason Todd Stiff Wonder to go to a truck stop. That was a feat in and of itself. Now, if only he could convince him to sleep in a crappy Motel 6, he’d be set for life in ‘Things Jason Todd Can be Convinced To Do’.


	26. Altar Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Jason was more than pleased with the new altar boy and all the hard work he put into the church.

“Father Jason?”

The youngest sanctioned representative of God, turned to look at the young altar boy. Jason Todd, was a tall slender man with jet black hair and a sharp smile. More than one of the female church goers were only constant because they silently hoped his frock would spontaneously disappear. His hands rested behind his back and his expression was constantly congenial.

“What is it Tim?” He asked, watching the young male move up the center aisle of the church.

Timothy Drake was one of Jason’s favorite altar boys. He was small in that permanently prepubescent sort of way and large blue eyes to match. The white robes seemed more likely to swallow him whole before he made it to the altar.

“I have finished organizing the storage room,” he said, smiling softly as he finally stepped up in front of the young priest.

Jason smiled. His hand dropped onto Tim’s shoulders. “You are an angel,” he stated. It was a common compliment from him. And every time, without fail, Tim would blush and squirm. His smile widened. He leaned down, bringing his face very close to the younger male’s. “You must be rewarded.”

There was a moment of confusion on Tim’s face. “Father? It was just a simple chore.”

“But a very important one,” he replied. His hand moved from Tim’s shoulder to cup the back of his head. “And chores done in the name of God are the best kind.”

“I suppose so,” Tim said, having a rather difficult time keeping his gaze on Jason’s eyes.

Tightening his hand on the back of Tim’s head, he closed the gap and pressed his perfectly heavenly mouth to Tim’s. Instantly, Tim melted into the kiss, his delicate hands coming up to grasp the front of Jason’s frock. Only wanting the young man to get the reward he deserved, Jason nipped at Tim’s lower lip, seeking askance into his mouth. When it was granted, he dipped his tongue inside, mapping a place he knew only he had ever been granted.

A very quiet moan escaped Tim into the kiss. Eagerly, Jason ate it up, coaxing the hesitant tongue into a small fight. His free hand traveled down Tim’s side and at the edge of the robes, dove under to find the soft skin below. Wonderfully talented fingers danced and teased over shivering flesh, while his tongue was actively finding a way to shut Tim’s brain off from his mouth.

When Tim’s hips rolled forward against his, Jason pulled back, his hands slipping away. He smiled at bruised lips, disheveled hair and less than perfect robes.

“Ah ah,” Jason reprimanded gently. “You’ll have to do a little more work before I can give you any more rewards.” He gently brushed Tim’s hair back, adoring the shiver it granted him. “Go on, young man. You’ll have more later, I promise.”

Tim sighed softly, the sound one of expectant pleasure. He gave a light nod and went about his God given duties.


	27. Sibling Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr's @icogneat-oh's hc: ⚡ The first time Tim punched Jason hard enough to knock him on his ass, Jay was so proud he pulled him into a hug, swearing at him all the while. Tim really, really did not know what to think.

Jason hadn’t expected it, after all no one that tiny should be able to inflict that much damage.

He supposed he really should have seen it coming. He’d been harassing the new Robin for a large majority of the night. Although that was Dick’s fault, since the Golden Boy had thought it would be a good idea to have Jason join that night’s patrol at all.

In the months since his rebirth, the relationship between himself and Timmy Drake had not gotten any better.

Not that he wanted it to.

It was kind of fun to had someone to tease and bother.

Like the little brother he’d never wanted.

Only normal older brother’s knew when to quit. Jason didn’t. He just kept right on going, pounding the same words into the youngest male without care. Not even when Dick hissed at him to shut up, especially then since it only egged him on more.

He’d finally taken the last straw when he’d brought up parents.

The nonexistent relationship between Timmy Drake and the parental Drake’s was a pretty common fact in the Wayne household. Taking one look at the tiny, socially awkward, nervous teenager was the easiest explanation. Jason had known it from day one and had only had it further confirmed by Dick’s random comments he’d let slip whenever they happened to meet.

“I’m guessing Daddy didn’t like you in the green tights, huh Robbie,” Jason commented just after they’d taken down their targets. “Had to switch to red?”

Tim’s shoulders had tightened visibly. Without any warning at all, he swung round and slammed his fist into Jason’s jaw.

Taken by surprise, Jason stumbled back tripping over himself and landing embarrassingly on the ground. He blinked, mind catching up to him.

Dick gaped at Tim.

Tim was still, fist still raised and expression shifting into one of horror. He was very sure Jason would kill him.

Jason pulled himself back to his feet and in one quick moment, he’d had Tim snagged by the collar and hauled to his chest. “You prick, that fucking hurt,” he complained, squeezing Tim against him. He’d never known the kid could have that much power. “Don’t you ever do that again, you bastard, I’ll rip you a new one.”

Tim stayed frozen, not knowing how to accept the embrace.

“Damn proud of that hit,” Jason snapped irritably. “Fucking dick, that hurt.”


	28. Suffer Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Jay+Tim brotherly bonding. Maybe hanging out at the manor or on a roof top or something

Jason had always been a little territorial. It had only gotten worse once he’d come back. He allowed Batman into his area but only on the barest of agreement. This was his section of Gotham to protect. He’d been born and raised there and it was the first place he went to when he came back.

Which meant he was well aware when someone was coming in.

What he didn’t usually know was why.

He caught up to Robin quickly. It wasn’t hard, considering the blood trail. Even in his irritation, a slight twinge of concern hit him.

“This isn’t your place, little birdie,” he called, just a few feet from catching the edges of that cape.

The smaller male paused, not looking back at him. “Sorry, I got turned around,” he mumbled, voice muffled by either a cold or a broken nose. Jason was betting on the latter.

“Are you running back to the Bats?”

There was a tiny head shake as shoulders tightened.

Jason frowned, not liking the fact that Tim wasn’t looking at him. He preferred eye contact when in a conversation. “Look at me when I ask questions.”

There was an agonizing moment when every muscle in Tim’s neck and shoulders tightened to snapping point. He turned slowly.

Jason winced. The kid’s face looked terrible; one cheek swollen and turning purple and a nose that clearly needed to be put back into place. It took a large amount of his irritation away. No matter how mad he got at someone he didn’t want them to suffer.

“What happened to your face?”

“Nothing,” Tim muttered, lifting a hand to wipe the blood from his upper lip but quickly rethinking it.

Jason stepped toward him. “You need to get that nose fixed,” he informed, raising his hand to help.

Tim jerked back, hands snapping up in defence.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jason growled. “Get over here.”

Tim swallowed thickly. He stayed still, not quite giving in. “Okay.”

Jason closed the distance. He tugged a rag from his pocket. He’d been carrying it to clean up his own wounds. He was, personally, a huge neat freak so even the rag was clean and fairly in good condition. Not that Tim would care, the teen was a bit of a slob. “Who did this to you?” He asked as he gently cleared the blood away.

Tim was silent for awhile before finally answering, “a friend from school.”

Jason arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

“He… Apparently doesn’t like Robin.”

The pair lapsed into silence as Jason worked. Without asking he peeled the mask away so he could finish clearing up. Tugging a bandage out of his back pocket he laid it over the cuts. Carefully he replaced the mask.

“Want me to go beat him up for you?”

Tim stared like he couldn’t believe Jason would do that. “Why would you?”

Jason shrugged. “That’s what older brother’s are for.”


	29. Explosive Behavior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - Roy catches Jason with his arrows.

Whether he liked to admit it or not, Jason did like when Dick dragged him along to his Titan get-togethers. For one thing, he got to see other former sidekicks. It was always nice to know that other people had to suffer through crazy mentors and even crazier training.

There was one Titan in particular that he knew for a fact suffered more than any Robin before him or after would have to suffer.

Roy Harper, the Green Arrow’s former sidekick had had the worst luck in getting a mentor. Having met Ollie and more than one of Bruce’s monkey suit occasions, Jason knew how much of a pain in the ass he could be. Just thinking about having to live with the man gave him a headache. It certainly put Bruce’s rules into perspective.

This trip to the Titan Tower with Dick found Jason in the equipment room. He poked through the random extra pieces all the Titans seemed to have. He certainly didn’t know that Donna Troy had a second pair of boots. Nor did he know that Roy had about three extra quivers.

He pulled one of the three quivers into his lap and yanked out on of the arrows. It was thicker than the rest and with strange little notches over the edges. He frowned at it, trying to figure out what the notches were for.

“Hey!” Roy snapped from the doorway. “Didn’t Batman ever teach you to not touch other people’s stuff?”

In his surprise at having being caught, Jason’s hand tightened around the arrow’s shaft. As shocked as he was by Roy’s appearance, it was nothing compared to the explosion of green ooze that erupted from the arrow.

When his world solidified into a mess of green and arrow pieces, he recognized laughter. Roy was slumped over in the doorway, holding his midsection. His laughter was inter-sped of high pitched squeaks as he tried to pull in air.

Clearly, he just found it the greatest thing to see a little Robin covered in green ooze.

Jason did not agree and he decided that this would be the last time he came with Dick to hang out with the Titans.


	30. Replacing the Irreplacable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr's @incogneat-oh's hc: ⚡ Tim gets dad-crushes. (Which is not to say he has crushes on people’s dads, just that he sometimes meets an older man and really wants them to be his dad.) Bruce was a dad-crush, for a long time, but Tim has more or less come to terms with the fact that Bruce doesn’t seem to want him around. Other dad-crushes he’s had include Clark (that felt like too much of a betrayal, when he gets to know Kon), Pa Kent, Lucius Fox, his pediatrician, and his middle school science teacher. Tim’s biggest dad-crush is still Jim Gordon.

It had always been wrong and selfish of him to view people the way he did. It was unfair to them, himself and, most importantly, his real father.

But they had all proven themselves to be the perfect parent in their own way.

They were all the things Jack Drake wasn’t.

All the things Tim Drake needed.

Yet he’d been given the Drake name and should have accepted what he had. He knew Jack had always been doing his best to give Tim a good life. The man had worked hard to keep him in the best schools and pay for anything he wanted; even if it meant he was never really around the home.

Tim knew all this. He’d always understood it, but it didn’t stop him from selfishly thinking, wishing someone else was his father.

Taking the Robin title and going out on patrol only made this wishes worse. It brought him closer to the man he had always pictured to be the perfect father. A strong, kindly figure who never gave up and was determined to see everything through the end.

And at the end of every patrol, Tim had to remind himself that he was a terrible son for hating the fates.

He’d been born a Drake, not a Gordon.

Try as he might, Tim fought the worst case of false-parent with tooth and nail. His real father was a good man. He didn’t need a new one. His life was just fine the way it was.

But… Sometimes, just sometimes, when the pain of patrol was building up and pulling his body to the limits, he wished his father was there. That he could be wrapped up in paternal warmth and protected. Usually, his wish was granted, but it was never the man he had to constantly tell himself was just fine.

“You’ll be okay, son,” the Commissioner told him, arms curling around him and lifting him out of the rubble.

Tim curled instinctively toward the safety. His hand gripped the man’s shirt and he’d never been so relieved to see someone that wasn’t his father.

“I’ll get you out of here. Just stay awake a little longer,” Jim Gordon continued, cradling the boy close.

“I’ll be okay, Dad,” Tim mumbled without thinking.

Jim’s arms only tightened further around him and he continued to murmur his quiet soothing words.

From that point on, Jim was protective of the tiny Robin. He’d always kept an eye on him during patrol, sending his best and most trusted men out when help was needed. He babbled to Barbara his worries about the boy’s tiny body.

When the boy came back to him as Red Robin Jim was both proud and disappointed. The boy had grown up and didn’t need his protection anymore. But Jim knew he needed it more than ever.

And Jim was more than willing to give it.


	31. What You Don't Know Can't Hurt You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr's @incogneat-oh's hc: ⚡ Tim believed he was allergic to animals up until he was seven years old. Then he figured out his parents just didn’t want to get him a pet.

Tim had spent most of his childhood avoiding pet stores at all cost.

He knew that if he went in there he would start to feel itchy and his nose would start to run. He hated when that happened, especially since he almost always forgot tissues.

Animals were the problem. He knew that because his parents had explained that some people had bad reactions to them. It was rather common and could cause a lot of harm to a person’s health.

Tim just so happened to be one of those people who could be badly affected.

His mother had told him so.

When he was three he’d been watching a show where a little boy who looked just like him had gotten a dog. The boy on television had a perfect family and life. And since he looked just like Tim, then Tim should be able to have the same life. Or so Tim figured. At dinner, he’d quietly asked his mother how long until Christmas.

“Two months,” she’d answered, not looking up from her reports on Eastern European Pagan rituals.

“Why?” His father prompted, looking across the table at his tiny son.

“Well… Because…” Tim started. He knew that if he wanted to say something he had to say it perfectly and clearly. His parents hated it when he mumbled or couldn’t get something across. “I want a doggy.”

“Dog,” his mother corrected.

“I want a dog,” Tim fixed his statement for them.

“What do you want a dog for?” Jack Drake asked.

“The boy on television has one.”

He watched as his parents glanced to one another. He wondered what it was his mother was whispering urgently to his father. It had to be important because his father looked very serious as he listened. Although he always looked serious. They both seemed to agree on something, since they nodded and finally looked to Tim.

He sat up a little straighter.

“You can’t have on,” his mother stated.

Tim’s shoulders dropped.

“You’re allergic,” his father explain.

“Al-ur… What does it mean?” Tim asked, unfamiliar with the word.

“It means,” his mother sighed, sounding slightly annoyed she had to explain. “that you’ll get very sick if you get near one. Do you want to be constantly sick?”

Tim shook his head quickly. He hated being sick.

Ever since then, he’d carefully avoided animals of any kind.

“Hello, junior,” a kind faced old man greeted him from one of the stores he so meticulously tried to stay away from. “Would you like to pet some kittens?”

Tim nodded without thinking. He trotted over to the cage the man had set out on the sidewalk and knelt down.

“Do you have a pet?” The man asked, reminding Tim that he was supposed to be staying away from this place.

Tim shook his head, always mute around strangers. He was only allowed to wander around Gotham City if he didn’t get in trouble. He got in trouble last time and his parents had only let him go today because they had errands to run at the bank. He had to make sure he didn’t get in trouble.

“No, I’d get sick if I did,” he explain.

The man looked confused. “Pets don’t make you sick. Here, try petting Missy. She likes to be pet.”

Tim hesitated. While the man looked very nice, he also knew that he could become very sick if he even looked at an animal too long. Still, he’d never been able to pet a kitten before and his father was always saying that ‘experience was the spice of life’. A little shakily, he reached forward to pet the cat in question.

His movement was awkward and nervous but the tiny grey kitten instantly curled up to his hand.

Tim’s round face broke into an instant smile.

“See? Not getting sick are ya?”

Tim shook his head, still smiling.

“Pets don’t make ya sick. Some people just say that so they don’t have to deal with animals.”

Tim stayed with the kitten, petting her for an hour or so. With great dismay, he picked himself up, thanked the man and headed back to his parents. The man’s statement stayed with him the whole time.

Throughout the rest of the week, he tested his ability to get near animals.

He tried it out on the neighbours dog, baiting it over with meat and then spending time just scratching it.

He politely asked if his tutor could bring her pet ferret next time. When she did, he smuggled it away for a few hours, just to see if he could play with it without getting itchy.

He even found a friendly enough stray cat to snuggle up to when he read on the porch.

After a week of testing, Tim came to the conclusion that he was just fine around animals. He decided his parents were just trying to be cautious. They only wanted to keep him safe and make sure he never had to be uncomfortable.

He was content with that notion as he sat down with them for their nightly news watch.

The cheerful news woman happily talked about the up coming adoption month, urging watchers to pick up a new pet.

His mother snorted. “A pet? Those things are always dirty, untrained and expensive. We’re never getting one.”

Jack nodded his head, frowning at the news reporters gall to tell them to get an animal.

Tim curled up tight in his seat. His parents always had his best interests in heart. They didn’t want to bother his neat, orderly, happy home with a mangy animal.

Even if he so desperately wished he had one.


	32. Everybody Gets One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr's @incogneat-oh's hc: ⚡ Dick has publicly embarrassed every member of his family by coddling them in costume.

Dick had a disturbing, horrifying habit of making everyone close to him deeply uncomfortable.

Bruce had been the first hit by this terrible habit. In his first year of having Robin by his side, he’d reluctantly gone up to the Justice League tower. He’d brought Dick with only out of fear that the tiny human would run off into the Gotham streets alone and cause serious damage. Or be left with Alfred and cause the same harm to the house.

The members had looked on in awe as their most intimidating founder showed up with a physical ray of sunshine. They’d cooed as the tiny boy had bounced around the facilities, finding each and every solid object he could climb on. And they’d been practically floored when a threat came in that turned the boy from a bouncing child to a battle-hardened soldier.

Batman and Robin had worked as a flawless team to help remove the threat from the solar system. 

After hours of fighting, Batman, Robin and the Justice League were able to take a moments peace.

“Your partner is quite amazing, Bruce,” Superman had commented, nodding to the small boy.

Bruce had frowned slightly, shaking his head. “He has much to learn.”

And just to prove Bruce’s point, it seemed, Dick had latched onto Bruce’s side. “That was so awesome,” he’d crowed, squeezing Bruce’s midsection. “But you gotta be more careful, B. I saw that alien hit your face. What would…” Dick paused, dropping his voice as if no one in the room had super-hearing. “What would Alfred think?”

Bruce had avoided the Tower for two months after that.

-/-

Barbara hadn’t been lucky either.

She come into the vigilante world as a whirlwind of power, taking down everything in her path. She stopped for nothing and refused to let people get in her way. She had everything Dick admired in a person.

The only thing that ever made her stumble was Bruce.

He had a way of tripping a person and not letting them get back up.

“You have to get your information right, Batgirl,” he’d growled into her ear as they made their way to the top of the police station.

“It is right,” she protested, glowering at the buildings.

Dick only chuckled, flying beside them.

Landing on top of the roof brought her right up close to her father. She saw him every day but never like this. For a brief moment, she was sure he recognized her, but when his gaze traveled back to Bruce, she relaxed.

Dick rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Batgirl found the information we needed,” Batman stated. “She will explain in detail.”

“It’s her first mission,” Dick put in cheerfully, throwing his arm around Barbara’s shoulder and tugging her close. “She’s been doing so well. Even if she has been nervous. Isn’t that great?”

Barbara never went to the police station with Dick again.

-/-

Jason always hated when people gave him special treatment. The very idea of someone babying him made him sick to his stomach. He could survive very well on his own, he didn’t need people to constantly trot behind him.

Dick seemed determined to completely ignore that hatred and do it anyway.

Jason distinctly remembered it plaguing him during his time as Robin.

Not two weeks into wearing the costume Dick had turned up during patrol. He’d ignored Bruce completely, focusing on Jason. Sticking around Jason, he’d purposely taken out thugs before Jason could and helped him grapple across buildings.

By the end of the night, Jason had been ready to punch down buildings.

In his frustrating, he slammed his fist into a rapist’s mouth. The scrape of breaking teeth made him hiss.

Dick had jerked him back. “Whoa, careful there kiddo! Don’t want to hurt yourself,” he’d said, drawing Jason close and checking over his hand.

“Dude, I’m fine,” Jason had snapped at him, more than frustrated.

Dick shook his head, not letting Jason move away; not even when the toothless criminal had laughed at Jason. In fact, it had only served to make Dick’s arms tighten around Jason, keeping him close the entire way home.

Jason still remembered and it made him hit things all the harder when he did.

-/-

Damian was convinced every experience he had with Dick would end in annoyance. Especially since the older male seemed determined to treat him like a child. Well, Damian was no child and he’d proven that a hundred times over.

On one particular occasion, he’d been in the middle of helping a police investigation. It had led them all the way to a hostage situation. Inside, the criminals were holed up, refusing to come out.

Damian had snuck in, easily subduing the ones with the most threat.

Dick had been right behind him, gathering up hostages and getting them out.

When one of the final thugs managed to get a hit on Damian, Dick had whipped around and knocked the man down a flight of stairs. In the same motion, seemingly, Dick turned back to Damian and yanked him close.

“You all right, lil’ D?” He’d asked, arms threatening to curl around Damian in one of those god forsaken hugs.

“You prat!” Damian had snorted. “I am just fine. A mere hit would never do that much damage.”

But Robin’s reputation had been forever ruined. Every trip back to the police station brought questions of Damian’s well-being or whether or not patrol had been too hard.

The worst part was that Damian couldn’t tell if they were being patronizing or not.

He never worked with the police again, if he could help it.

-/-

There was only one time Dick had managed to coddle Stephanie in public. And from the talking-to he’d gotten afterwards, he would never manage it again.

Stephanie had just started as Batgirl. She was relearning Gotham from Barbara’s perspective. Everything was much harder and more exhilarating than before. She rushed into patrol with a great gusto; much like she did everything else.

On one patrol, she had gotten a little too excited and had over balanced herself.

Quite literally.

Taking a hard fall, her knee had collided with a brick wall. With a sharp hiss, she’d dropped her line and landed in the alley below. She hated to drop in on enemies so unprepared but it wasn’t like she could go back in time and fix it. So, she pulled herself up, ignored the throbbing pain in her knee and turned to face the drug dealers.

Not a second later, Batman was there. Dick scooped her right up. "Batgirl won’t be fighting you tonight,“ he’d told the deeply confused criminals. "She’s got to heal up.”

“What?” Stephanie protested the whole way back to Oracle’s.

As soon as Dick had let her go, she really let him have it. There was no way she’d needed help and she was infuriated that he even thought she needed it. With one last place shove to his chest, she’d stormed right out of there.

Cassandra, who had waited patiently beside Barbara through the whole ordeal, gave one glance to Dick. She silently dared him to ever try that with her.

Dick never did and never will.

-/-

Despite Dick’s one time shots with the other members of the ragtag family, every one agreed, Tim had it the worst.

Every stage of Tim’s life had been quickly followed by Dick bothering him publicly. It didn’t stop during patrol either, a near constant bother.

One of the worst came about just after Bruce’s return from the dead.

In a strange fit of nostalgia, nearly everyone with a bat on their chest or even closely related to a bat was in Gotham. They were patrolling together like the strange family they were supposed to be. Granted, Kate and Jason kept their distance, they were still there and well aware of what the rest of the group was doing.

Stephanie had teased Tim all night, joking about the shell he’d built up about himself over the last few months. Those jokes had earned more than a few glances from Dick.

But Tim had only nodded, chuckling a few times at Stephanie’s jokes.

It seemed like that was going to be the worst he got for the night, until a fight went quickly down hill.

A thug whom Tim had effectively pulled away from a sneak attack on Damian, had shoved Tim through a glass ceiling. The pair, criminal and vigilante, had tumbled through. Glass shattered around them, wooden beams of a rotting roof giving way and snapping under their weight.

In a quick second they were both down, partially buried under rubble.

“Red Robin!” Bruce had called down to them.

Tim tilted his head back, seeing his entire family circled around the crumbling hole. He lifted a hand to wave them off, to let them know he was okay.

He never got the chance.

Dick had grabbed his hand, yanked him back up into the air and clutched him to his chest. “Jesus, Timmy! You could have died.”

Tim spluttered, trying to pull himself away.

Dick didn’t let go. He clapped his hands to Tim’s cheeks, searching him all over for any signs of injury. “Crap, you should have just let me handle it. Are you okay?”

“I–”

“Lord,” Dick breathed, pulling Tim close again, arms trapping him. If Tim hadn’t already been embarassed into an early grave, he would have noticed that Dick was swaying slightly, babbling about injured birds.

Stephanie, Jason and Damian’s snorts of laughter were enough to make sure Tim didn’t talk to his family for half a year.


	33. Share The Load

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr's @incogneat-oh's hc: ⚡ Whenever Dick or Jason catch their little brothers carrying something remotely heavy, they will, unthinkingly, take it off them to carry it on their behalf. (Bruce secretly thinks this is the most adorable thing in the whole world.)

Every once in awhile Bruce would suddenly hit the world with a cleaning spree and clear out the entire Cave.

While it made Alfred exceedingly happy to watch all of his favorite boys finally get in the spirit of cleaning, he was less than pleased to find most of the Manor suddenly occupied with piles upon piles of vigilante work. However he never complained as it gave him the chance to get everything cleaned to his standard.

“Master Timothy, have you cleared out the shelves in the second chamber?” Alfred inquired, dusting off old files and clearing them up for refiling.

Tim shook his head. “Not yet. Dick and Jason are fighting over it.”

“Fighting over it?”

Tim nodded. He handed a small stack of boxes to the butler. “Apparently it has some of Bruce’s old experiments and neither of them want to go near them. Not that I blame them.”

“Nor do I,” Alfred murmured to himself.

Tim turned to leave, stepping out of Damian’s way as the younger male brought in an armful of weapons.

“I see no reason to clean up after my father’s messes. Or anyone else’s for that matter,” Damian grumbled, dumping the load on the armchair.

“It’s called being polite, Damian,” Tim sighed.

Damian shot him a glare. “I know my manners, Drake.”

Tim rolled his eyes, not wanting to argue, not when there was more work to be done. He stayed quiet the whole way back down to the Cave while Damian ranted about atrocious cleaning habits and the idocracy of ‘Spring Cleaning’. He only offered a brief look of irritation as Damian’s speech moved onto every one’s inability to handle their own affairs.

“Nope, you’re the oldest so you should do it,” Jason stated, easily cutting into Damian’s words as the pair stepped into the dirty chamber.

Dick huffed, crossing his arms. “But since I’m the oldest you should do as I tell you and I’m telling you to do it.”

“Not a thing will be completed if the two of you continue to bicker,” Damian pointed out, glowering at the two of them.

“Things will get done. Once Dickie here realizes it’s his turn to clean this chamber,” Jason retorted.

“My turn?” Dick scoffed. “I cleaned it last time!”

Tim wisely kept out of the conversation. Early on he’d learned that the four of them could argue for hours before anything actually happened. He stepped over to a large box full of old glass containers and beakers instead. Bending down slightly, he hefted it up against his chest. A small grunt escaped him as the weight pressed against his ribcage.

Damian, not wanting to be out done by Tim, moved to grab his own box. He found a strangely shaped machine that had long stopped working. After a pause considering on how he would lift it, he gripped it hard and hauled it up. He winced slightly, not quite having the best handle on the awkward object.

“And the time before that,” Dick continued. He stepped over to Tim as he spoke. “In fact you’ve never cleaned this chamber, Jason.” He lifted the box out of Tim’s hands, leaving a rather confused Tim behind. “Which means you should finally pick up your weight and do some work.”

“Pick up my weight?” Jason growled, grabbing the strange machine out of Damian’s grasp and stomping after Dick. “Excuse me, Golden Boy. I do far more than anyone around here.”

The pair snipped at each other, easily walking away with what Tim and Damian had originally lifted.

Tim blinked again, looking to Damian. The other boy, Tim was rather pleased to see, had the same confused expression.

A small chuckle pulled their attention to the entrance.

Bruce was standing by looking very amused. When he saw the two staring, he cleared his throat and nodded to the piles behind them.

Right back to work.


	34. Fixing Broken Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephanie has watched a lot of people fall but she's not losing another one.

Stephanie was used to watching people fall. She’d seen it at every stage in her life. She’d even watched herself fall; over and over again, she’d hit rock bottom. But she’d always managed to fight her way back to the surface.

It was everyone else who weren’t so lucky.

There were few people she truly believed could come back from anything. She could count on one hand just how many. Her mother, for one, had taught her to fight in the first place. Bruce Wayne had taught her how to fight. Cassandra Cain showed her what could happen if she ever stopped fighting. But Tim Drake and Barbara Gordon gave her a reason to keep coming back.

Each of them were pillars of strength and stone. Nothing could push them over. From death to injury they always came back.

She was so sure that none of them could break and shatter. Even when Bruce disappeared from the world and there was a time when it seemed like nothing would stand straight again, she was convinced they would all continue.

Except, Tim didn’t get back up. He fell and just kept falling. He dropped off the edge and every line that was cast to pull him up was snapped before he gave it a chance.

The worst part was that Stephanie had to step back and let it happen. She had to watch as her first fighting partner shattered and there was nothing she could do about it.

Not that she didn’t try. How the fates knew she tried, but he was refusing help. He shoved people out of his life, hard. Soon she was sure that he’d finally hit the bottom but he wouldn’t come back up, like she had so many times before.

She needed to fix this. If no one else was going to, she’d be damned if she didn’t keep trying.


	35. Pause In The Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim finds a moment for himself.

There is a moment in the middle of chaos when peace is needed. Nothing can flourish in a constant deluge of pain and suffering. Even as the hurt continues, pounding constantly and it seems that there is no ending there will always be a second of calm.

In the middle of one of the worst years of Tim Drake’s life, he finally got a moment to himself.

He hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t planned it nor had anyone else. He hadn’t stepped away from his suffering to find it either.

Finally after a brutal case, he’d gone out for a normal patrol. In the pouring rain, he’d stopped at the top of Wayne Tower. He was waiting to hear something, anything. He was waiting to hear someone cry for help. For anyone to call out to him, to need him, to have him.

He turned his head, watching the rain-slicked streets glint with the lights that never seemed to go off. And it hit him.

With the world so far below him and only the dark sky above, he was struck with a moment of peace. A single moment of time just to himself. There was no need to run off. No clues to analyze. No one to lie to and tell them everything was just fine, that he’d be fine. He didn’t have to talk himself through another night of frenzied thinking.

This moment with the city glittering in the hazy winter rain just under his feet and no case to occupy him, Tim Drake had found his brief peace.


	36. The British Are Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr's @incogneat-oh's hc: ⚡ “I’ll get Alfred” is an incredibly popular threat around the Manor. It is also the only threat with a 100% success rate.

Tim really rather hated dealing with Damian, even when it was at the bare minimum. He always left irritated and reciting more than one calming mantra. His bedroom pillows barely escaped unscathed, finding themselves under the bed by the end of the encounter.

This particular moment was no better.

“I knew you were thick, Drake but I never thought you’d be blind.”

“It was a mistake, Damian,” Tim snapped, practically ripping his mask off his face.

Behind them, Bruce and Dick trailed in behind them. One looked amused, the other tiredly reserved from the argument that had been waging for the last twenty minutes. Dick patted Bruce’s shoulder and stepped around the group to head up stairs. Bruce turned off to his computer; this fight could be solved without his help.

“A mistake that could have cost someone their life,” Damian argued, unsnapping belts and yanking off his gloves.

“Hardly, it was an unarmed bank robber with a penchant for tripping.”

Damian peeled off his mask to glare at Tim. “First rule to fighting is to never underestimate your enemy.”

“Cute words, coming from you.”

There was a pause when it looked like Damian was debating a physical answer. Instead he snorted and unlocked his cape. “You made a mistake and therefore failed. You should hang up your cape.”

Tim rolled his eyes. He’d heard that statement more than once. By now it didn’t carry nearly as much sting as it did before. “In the end the mistake was rectified and the criminal put in jail. It was fixed.”

“It’s a flawed mentality like that, that only the son of a failed businessman could have.”

Tim stopped, half way through putting his suit back in it’s case. He looked back to Damian, eyes narrowed. “You take that back.”

Damian drew himself up. “I will not take back the truth.”

Tim’s hands tightened into fists. “My father was not a failure.”

“His horrific fall from grace is well known.”

That only made Tim’s thoughts stutter for a moment. Until he gained the Wayne name, most people didn’t know him as Drake. He ignored that for the bigger insult at hand. “You didn’t even know him. You’re not allowed to say such things.”

Tim moved his hand sharply, just enough to set Damian on edge.

“I can say what I wish. This is my father’s, and therefore, my home. Far more than it is yours.”

Tim’s teeth grit against themselves in his jaw. “Just stop talking.”

Damian glowered. “You do not control me.”

“Seriously, just shut up.”

That earned Tim a less than dignified response. Damian hurled his boot at Tim’s head. A quick move pulled Tim out of the way. He stared at Damian, more shocked at the fact it was a boot than the actual aggression.

The two stared for a long moment, then Tim’s brain snapped back into action.

“You threw a boot at me,” he said with remarkable intelligence.

Damian drew himself up. “I did.”

And Tim responded with the only thing he could think of, “I’m telling Alfred.” An equally childish phrase for a childish action.

“You will not.”

“I will so!”

Tim turned and moved up the stairs. Only when he heard that Damian was following behind did he pick up the pace. They were practically sprinting to the kitchen by the end.

Calling for Alfred was like calling down the wrath of a god. Alfred could and would settle an argument. It was just who got to him first that determined who got the better end.


	37. Matching Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick has a new form of family bonding.

“Grayson, of all the ideas you’ve ever had, this has to be one of the most moronic.”

“Shut up, Damian. Just because you’re too chicken to handle it doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t.”

“Don’t you tell me what to do, Todd! And I’m nothing even closely related to a farm animal.”

“Oh, no, you’re right. You’re just a pansy.”

“I’m not a flower either! I just think getting ‘matching tattoos as a sign of a secret brotherhood’ is foolish!”

A very quiet sigh escaped Tim and he sat back in his chair. He glanced over at Dick who was smiling in a way that said he’d clearly gotten the best steak in the restaurant. Silently, while Jason and Damian bickered, he reached over and tapped Dick’s arm.

Dick lifted an eyebrow and looked over at him.

“Matching tattoos, really?” He mouthed.

Dick chuckled and shook his head. “It’s a bonding experience.”

Tim looked back as a man that Dick had hired was trying, in vain, to keep Damian still so he could draw on his arm. A tattoo was a horrible idea. Tim certainly didn’t want one. No matter how competent the artist proclaimed to be. But as he watched he noticed something strange about the ink. It made his stomach relax ever so slightly.

That was when Dick leaned over to whisper in his ear, “I’m just waiting until they figure out it’s all magic marker.”


	38. Slang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bart wants a catch-phrase.

“Shit just got real.”

Tim could have slapped him. “Really? You’re going to say that just as we’re going to fight?”

Bart looked at him, blinking innocently. “What? Isn’t that what you say in this time frame?”

Tim shook his head. “No. We don’t say anything.”

Bart frowned. “That’s totally not crash,” he muttered, giving a huff. “You guys are boring.”

“No, we’re just serious.”

“Yeah, boring.”

Tim shook his head. “Just take out the sensors,” he ordered. He launched off of the platform, slamming into the segment of thugs that Nightwing had told them to take out five minutes ago.

“But it sounds so cool when you say it,” Bart muttered to himself as he raced around the complex, knocking out the security. “And I used it in the right context. There were thirty more thugs than we thought. Shit really did get real.”

Bart slid back to his start point. He looked over the edge, watching Tim take down the enemies one by one. After a minute break, he joined in. “What about shit just got serious? Would that work?”

“I guess,” Tim gritted out. “It’s just unnecessary.”

“It could be like a catch-phrase,” Bart countered.

“It’s not kid friendly,” Tim commented, staff sinking into a thug’s stomach.

“So? We’re teenagers and all teenagers like to curse.”

“Yes, but we’re trying to set a good example for younger generations. We don’t want parents hating us because we use bad words.”

Bart sighed dramatically, spinning a man in circles. “So mode…”

Both teenagers paused when the ceiling gave a horrid screech. They looked up, staring open-mouthed as it pulled back slowly revealing a rather deadly looking weapon.

“Shit…” Tim breathed.

“Just got real,” Bart finished for him.


	39. Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not the fall that kills you. It's the very sudden stop.
> 
> (Note: It is NOT a major character death)

It was like the hand of the Universe had sunk into the base of his skull and ripped every bit of nerve out of his body. Not only ripped them out but showed him what they looked like before balling them up and hurling them to the opposite end of space. His thoughts were not his own. Everything felt like it was a moment in a book or on television. Certainly nothing he was actually apart of.

Conner pulled in a sharp, hard breath. His arms shook as he tried to get back to his feet. His head was spinning and it was taking serious effort to keep himself from losing his breakfast all over the shiny tile floor.

“How does it feel, Conner?”

Conner felt the growl before he remembered making it.

“Oh, now that’s not very nice.” Above him Lex Luthor was smiling in the sort of way a man who had just won President of the Earth did. “I told you that, one day, you’d be mine. You didn’t believe me.”

Conner managed to shoot him a glare. “I’ll never be yours,” he spat, getting his muscles to work properly.

Luthor shrugged. “Well, you won’t be much of anyone else’s. Not anymore.”

“What? Why?” Conner had to ask, despite himself. He knew something was off about his body. The weird tingling at the tips of his fingers and an inability to get his knees to stay strong were an atest to that. He just didn’t know exactly what it was that was wrong.

Luthor was already turning away from him, as if bored with the conversation. Which, considering the man in question, he probably was. “Simple. I took away the one thing that made you human.”

“You… Did what?”

“I took your humanity. Not your hearing,” Luthor sighed, passing a hand over his forehead. “You are, now, a full Kryptonian.”

Was that even possible? Conner’s throat constricted. He needed to get his thoughts in order. He needed someone to be stable to work through the thoughts. He needed Tim. The Gothamite was the one person who could walk through the Gates of Hell and categorize the difference in temperature between flames. He choked out a sound, muscles tightening with the onslaught of new power.

As if on cue, the doors to the laboratory burst open. One of the guards dropped to the floor, taken down by a blow to the head from Tim’s bo staff. The young vigilante in question, stepped over the body.

“Ah, Robin, the boy wonder. How kind of you to join us,” Luthor said, a weirdly playful expression on his features.

Tim’s face was no where near as kind. His jaw was set and serious. “Well, I heard you were having a party without me,” he said without much humor. “I figured I’d drop in.”

Luthor’s smile widened. “Well, the party hasn’t started. Not all the guests are here.”

For a second Tim’s face loosened into confusion. It didn’t have enough time to last before more guards spilled into the room. Their bodies were contorted with a size that was too big for the room. They snarled and spit at the two teenagers.

Conner swallowed, subconsciously moving closer to Tim. “Nice to see you finally arrived,” he mumbled, lifting his arms in a defensive pose.

“Sorry, I was busy with security. Are you okay?” Tim asked, staff flipping up to protect himself from the closest monster.

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, now isn’t the time for introspection. Figure it out later.” Tim was not in the mood to play. Then again, he rarely was. He launched into the fight, staff snapping out to hit in all the right places.

Before Conner could join the fray, Luthor caught his shoulder. “I can’t imagine the all American hero will want you for a son, if you can’t even control your new powers,” he whispered, voice like poisoned silk against Conner’s ear. He let go and shoved Conner forward.

Conner stumbled once. The closest monster turned to him. His body was moving into action before he could think to stop it. His fist connected with the creatures jaw. Instead of the moment of pull-back he normally had, instead his hand kept going; past the crunch of bone and right into the soft inner flesh. His stomach churned and his mind went blank. There was no way he could have done that. He never could before.

“What are you doing?” Tim shrieked.

“I-I–”

“Stop! You’re killing him!”

Tim’s staff swept out and slammed into his shoulder. It could never have hoped to do much in lieu of stopping Conner, but it was enough to get him to back off. Tim shot him a glare that promised a lecture when this was over. For now, they had enemies to fight. The non-powered teenager jumped back into the battle.

Conner offered himself a small moment to think. He’d almost killed a man and this time he wasn’t being controlled. This was his own power, his own strength. This was his own doing. There was no one to blame this time. And that, more than anything, made his thoughts freeze.

The shattering of glass yanked Conner back into action. He whipped his head around just in time to see Tim’s cape whip out of sight. With a yell of fear and fury, he launched across the room. Knocking a guard out of the way, he leaped out of the window.

Tim was falling. Even then, with death rising to meet him at impossible speeds, his face was impossibly calm.

How he could do that, Conner never understood.

Conner lifted his arms, urging himself to go faster. He had to get to the other male before the ground did.

“Conner–”

The rush of air covered Tim’s words. Conner got a hand around Tim’s belt. Too close to the ground, he thought and jerked upward. The snap that followed the hard movement wasn’t something that Conner consciously registered.

Not until far later.

He got back to the roof top, ignoring the laboratory with the monsters. “Tim?” He paused, looking at the body he clung to. His eyes widened and his mouth went dry. Thoughts raced through his head almost too fast to fall. Most of them were screaming in horror and others in disbelief. He’d only been trying to help. He’d done it a million times before this. It had never ended badly. He’d always saved Tim before the ground.

Maybe that was why Tim had looked so calm.

Hard to be afraid of death when it’s almost assured to never happen.

That is, until today.

A harsh cry tore itself out of Conner’s throat. He wrapped his arms around the limp body, crushing it to his chest. The sounds he made weren’t even close to being human, just another sign that Luthor really had taken his humanity from him.

He would never fly again.

“Conner? Conner, wake up.”


	40. End of a Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim gets some unfortunate news and Conner gets an unfortunate ending.

“What do you mean you’re still dating Cassie?”

Conner lifted his head to look toward Tim. It was more of a strange downward glance as he was floating about five feet above the other boy’s bed. He was still looking at Tim.

“Well, we’re not dating, really…”

Tim’s eyes narrowed, expression turning so very close to Robin. At any other time the gaze would have made Conner’s pants tighten. But now did not seem like the appropriate time.

“Conner, you’re either dating someone or you’re not. There isn’t an in between.”

“Sure there is. Superheroes have civilian dates all the time.”

Tim stood up, bringing his face close to Conner’s. “You’re not dating a civi. Get down here.”

“But–”

“Now.”

Conner growled and lowered his feet to the ground. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tim, it’s not a big deal.”

Instantly the other teen bristled. “Not a big deal? Conner, this is a huge deal! You told me when we started that you can Cassie were over.”

“We are. Sort of…”

“What’s sort of?”

Conner rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean… We still fool around and stuff…”

Tim looked like he’d just watched Batman swing dance with the Joker. “You still what? You… You can’t be serious! And we..! But you and Cassie are still.” He shook his head, looking pale.

“Tim, come on. It’s not that big of a deal. We-”

“No,” Tim cut him off, back going straight. “I’m making you choose Conner. It’s either me or Cassie. You can’t have both.”

Conner gaped, mouth working uselessly. His arms uncrossed but didn’t move in any useful manor. “You can’t…”

“Yes, I can. This isn’t fair to me or to Cassie. You pick or I pick for you.”

A hard, tense silence dropped over the pair of them. Tim’s face had gone into that serious chiselled expression which meant he was all business. Conner was searching his face for any sign of bending. There wasn’t one.

“I can’t…” Conner finally muttered, shoulders dropping in defeat.

Tim’s jaw tightened to grinding point. “Then I’m choosing for you…” He stepped back and wrenched his bedroom window open. He pointed out the window. “We’re through. Now, get out.”

There was no arguing with that voice. Conner picked himself up and took the window out.

“Tim, can’t we–”

The window slammed shut.

And that was the end of that.


	41. Swan Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ballet AU

“Again.”

Tim bent and twisted, his face pulled into a delicate frown. This was important. He had to get it right. Next week was it. If he didn’t get this perfect he wouldn’t get what he wanted. And there was nothing he didn’t get.

“Again.”

His heart beat pounded in his ears, breath caught in his throat. This was wrong, so totally wrong. How could he have possibly missed that step? Every mistake was just one more hard tug away from what he wanted; what he needed. His thighs burned, pushing them to their limits as he kicked out.

“Again.”

There was no way he was losing this to Selina. Not again. He’d prove his mother and father wrong. He hadn’t wasted years on this. Not when he could finally, finally, move across the stage likethis.Not when he could arch his back so perfectly and his arms would stretch like the wings he so believed them to be. No, he could do this and he could do it right.

“Again.”

It was frustrating. Mind numbingly irritating that he couldn’t get that jump. The pivotal move that would make or break his performance. He needed to get that spot on. Pain shooting up his ankle, shattering the control he had in his knee was ignored. He could handle it. Just a few more tries until it was perfect. He lifted his body up, stretching muscle and sinew to the very lengths of impossible.

“Stop.”

His arm pause, stretched back and fingers pointed in just the perfect way. Swallowing thickly, he turned his head to stare at the man who had spoken. Only inches behind him. How had he missed that? Still, he didn’t drop his position.

“Don’t you know that dance needs to have two people?”

Of course he knew. Timothy Drake knew everything about this dance. He’d been studying it since he was five. He didn’t move, keeping his body taught for the jump as the other man stepped closer. Hands much larger than his own slid over his arms.

“Allow me to join?”

Without speaking, Tim nodded. The movement just was poised and controlled as everything else. He stayed still as the hands moved up and over his shoulders, carding over his chest. His back was pressed fully against the other man’s, warmth seeping into abused muscle.

“Move with me,” Dick whispered into his ear, breath feathering over Tim’s neck.

Suddenly, it didn’t seem so impossible.


	42. Fallen Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is a Janitor, everything else is a mess.

“Hey, Bruce.”

Slowly, unwillingly, he lowered his wash rag from the marble banister. Lifting an eyebrow as if he owned the place, Bruce turned to look at his fellow employee.

“Yes, Talia?”

She seemed to hesitate, plucking at her tight white tank top. “So, I was working on the seventh floor. You know, where the Pit is.”

Bruce nodded. The Pit was well known among the cleaning staff of Goth Corp. It was almost always dirty, smelled like death warmed over and had the propensity to be strangely sandy. He hated working there and usually left it to Talia and her elderly father.

“Well… I borrowed your bucket.”

“Which one..?”

Talia swallowed. “The one with the ‘R’ on it.”

Bruce stared at her. That was his best bucket. He’d had it since he’d started this job. He’d even named it. Although that had been in a drunken haze, it still had a name.

“Where is it?” He asked, noticing she wasn’t holding it.

Talia shifted, pulling at her cover all’s she always had draped around her waist. “I… Broke it. It’s leaking everywhere.”

Bruce dropped his rag and dashed out of the room. He hurried up the stairs, forcing his legs to pump faster and harder. His heart was racing and his thoughts hazy. That was his best bucket! He’d had it for so long! He wasn’t going to lose it over a dumb accident.

“Jason?” He called a split second before he remembered that it was just a bucket.

But it was a bucket laying over in the corner, dirty mop watch leaking all over the floor.

“Jason!”

Later he’d berate himself over the fact he was yelling for a bucket.

For now, he ran over to it, seeing if he could fix it. Seeing no option, he dropped to the floor. He was drained, already missing his first cleaning tool. He would never get another tool.

It was too painful to lose.


	43. For What Gods Create

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sort of A Gods/Temple Maidens AU.

Tim’s hand passed over the water, barely pulling a ripple from the smooth surface. He watched the reflection of the world around him stir ever so slightly in the wind. A tiny sigh pulled itself from his throat.

“Something wrong, Tim?”

Tim lifted his head to look over his shoulder. “No, Stephanie,” he replied. He pulled himself to his feet, brushing off his silk robes.

“It certainly looks like it,” she stated, padding over to him with a grace only Oracle’s Birds seemed to possess. “Bats aren’t allowed out in the day. And you only visit the Reflection Pond when something is making it hard for you to sleep. So, what is it?”

Tim’s eyes narrowed slightly. Every so often he wondered why Stephanie, a low born girl with an attitude that could put a cat to shame, was allowed into the Oracle’s graces. But then he remembered that Oracle adored anyone who had a sharp eye and Stephanie certainly had one. “It’s the new Bat.”

Stephanie tilted her head. “The tiny one?”

Tim nodded. He glanced back at the pool, still undisturbed. “He comes here with so much anger. He threatens everything that Bat’s stand for.”

Stephanie snorted. “Being a Bat means you thrive on anger. It makes me wonder how you have made it so long.” She moved her hand onto Tim’s shoulder. “Tell me. What did he do this time?”

Tim looked at her hand for a long moment before shifting his gaze to look at her face. “Same things as always. He is the only one worthy for the Great Father. Everyone else is a brazen fool and dirty pleebs.”

A laugh echoed from Stephanie. “Now that does sound like him. He must certainly get points just for being so proud. /Does/ the Great Father like him?”

“Yes,” Tim answered through a sigh. “And that’s the worst part.”

“Mm, yeah, I can see why.” Gently, her hold tightened on Tim’s arm and she guided him into the cool temple halls. “If it makes you feel any better, Oracle doesn’t care for him. She thinks he’s too irritating, like a fly.”

Tim’s mouth quirked in a vague smile. “That does make me feel better.”

The pair walked in silence for a long moment. They could not be more different. Stephanie walked without a care, her long purple robes flowing around her and hugging her frame. Unlike most of the temple goers, she kept her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked exactly like a summer bird come to roost. While Tim was all dark and sleek. His robes were tight, offering little movement. All blacks and reds, he moved like a creature from a cave. Even his hair was short, clipped around his angular face.

It wasn’t rare to see a Bat walk with a Bird, but it was always strange to see.

“But there is something else, isn’t there?” Stephanie asked, breaking the silence. She had paused by one of the large displays of lily roses. A few of the flowers had fallen out of place and she had stopped to fix them.

Tim stood next to her, brooding. “Yes,” he admitted finally.

“What is it?” Stephanie patted the yellow and pink petals. “It’s the oldest Bat, isn’t it? The blue one?”

“Why you weren’t picked to be a Bat, I’ll never know.”

“Girl, remember?” Stephanie grabbed her breasts, pushing them up. “Or maybe you hadn’t noticed?”

Tim shook his head. “Of course I did. All of you Birds are clearly women.”

“Yeah? And all of you Bats are clearly male. So, speak up. What’s wrong with the blue guy?”

Tim pushed his hair back, briefly upsetting the perfect style. “He has been taking care of the demon child.” He dropped his hand to his side, valiantly avoiding turning it into a fist.

Stephanie blinked. “But, isn’t training new comers left to you or the Great Father?”

“Usually. But the Great Father had to travel to the Grand Halls. He’ll be there for awhile.”

“The Grand Halls? Why?”

“Something has come up between the men of Darkseid and the Warriors of Krypton. The Twelve have been called on to stop it. And as the Great Father–”

“He has his Gods given duty to help prevent it. Yeah, yeah. I know. I listened to the lessons. But that doesn’t explain why you aren’t taking care of the new comer.”

Tim looked at the flowers, considering a subject change. “He didn’t want me to train him. He rejected me and tried to have me thrown off the second story balcony.”

Silence dropped over Stephanie. “Oh… Well… I guess I can see why the blue guy has to train him now.” She swallowed, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. “But what does that mean for your… You know… Relationship?”

Tim glared at the innocent lily roses. “It makes things very difficult,” he said through gritted teeth. “I haven’t been alone with him since the Blue Moon.”

“That was four months ago!” Stephanie looked aghast. “And you haven’t been alone in that long? Won’t that hurt you two? You’re not going to break up are you?”

Tim didn’t look at her, he couldn’t. Slowly, he shook his head. “He promised we wouldn’t. But… It’s been so hard.”

Quietly, Stephanie reached forward to grasp his hand. When he didn’t pull away from her, she smiled. “I’ll help you. Maybe I’ll take a swing at the demon kid. You and I both know I am particularly good at handling Bats.”

Tim turned his head to look at her. Slowly he smiled. “Thank you.”

A shrug lifting her shoulders. “Hey, can’t have the Sun without the Moon. Same said for Birds and Bats.”


	44. The Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt - "Someone is a Timelord/Meets a Timelord"

Tim couldn't believe this was happening. When his life became a terrible science fiction novel, he had no idea. If he survived this he was never reading another Ray Bradbury book again.

“I’m really sorry,” he offered, backing away with his hands up. “I was just trying to get to the store. I didn’t mean to interrupt your intergalactic scheme.” He was babbling he knew that, but he really didn’t have much of an option. Not when three strangely plastic looking women were backing him against a wall. “No, please, don’t stop for me. Do carry on.”

The plastic woman in the center lifted her hand; the strangest looking gun he’d ever seen was curled in her grasp. “You have interfered, you must be terminated.”

“No! I think I’m good. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

The plastic shifted in what must have been a head shake. Her hand tightened and three very distinct things happened at once. First, the gun exploded. He knew that because he watched it happen. Second, the sky exploded. He wasn’t totally sure if that’s what it had been, but it was the only thing he could come up with. And finally, a very solid, not plastic, body slammed into him knocking him to the ground.

“Oop, sorry about that. I meant to land in Norbury,” the very solid, not plastic body informed him.

Tim stared, eyes wide. “Uhm, you’re on fire,” he said in a vague daze.

“Pardon?” The man turned his head to look at his shoulder. “Hey, so it is!” He moved his hand and the fire disappeared, not that Tim could see how. “Excuse me a moment.” The solid, not plastic man, jumped to his feet and whipped out another strange object.

While Tim tried to will his legs back into movement, he also tried to understand why the crazed not plastic man was brandishing a screwdriver at the plastic women.

Tim glanced down at this legs. In the split second it took him to make sure he hadn’t lost any body parts, something popped above him and the plastic women disappeared. He gaped, staring at the back of the solid, not plastic man.

“Who are you?” He breathed when the man turned to look at him.

The man smiled. “I’m the Doctor. Although… Most people just call me Dick.” He paused, thinking. “Not sure if they mean it as an insult, but I’ve always liked the name Richard.”

And that was the moment Tim realized he was stuck in the world of science fiction and he was never getting out.


	45. Fox Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitsune AU - Damian finds out Tim's secret.

“Damian, you can’t tell anyone,” Tim hissed, doing his damnedest to force his form back into a more human state. After the fight with Ivy, it had grown increasingly hard to focus himself enough to stay normal looking.

Damian glowered at him, crossing his arms and watching the flickering of black tails and fox ears before finally saying, “what will you do for me?”

There was a long, terse silence as Tim considered all of his options then answered, “I’ll grant your wish, since a caught demon is a wish granting one.”

Damian slowly dragged his gaze down to Tim's mouth then up to his eyes. He's lips parted in a smile more devilish than Tim had ever seen.

"Kiss me," he demanded.

"Is that your wish?"

Damian shook his head. "No, that's what you'll give me for keeping your secret. What I wish for will come later. When you're ready."


	46. Meeting Maid Marian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - Robin Hood, the Merry Men and Maid Marian all in Gotham City.

Dick was not above stealing, especially when it was for a good cause.

Twenty starving orphans and a city government that did nothing to fix it was more than enough to prompt his late night outings. Not that he needed much pushing in the first place.

Ever since he’d been admitted to the Gotham foster care system, Dick had been taking care of other children. Over the years he’d done everything he could to help those who couldn’t. Even if it meant bending the law a little. Not that he would steal all the time, just when it was really important. Most of the time he could get by with odd jobs around the city. That tended to keep him and the rest of his little gaggle healthy.

But the numbers were getting higher.

More and more kids were joining his little pack. Most of them actually needed the shelter, unable to survive on their own. Some of them, on the other hand, could more than handle themselves but wanted to join Dick’s cause.

Whether it was flattery on their part or a gradual acknowledgment that help was needed on Dick’s part, he now had a small group of outlaws that joined him on his excursions into Gotham’s rich district.

“So, Robin Hood, where’s our target tonight?”

Dick shot a small glare over to one of his best helpers. “I told you to stop calling me that, Jason,” he grumbled.

“Why? I think it’s got a nice ring. Plus, if he keeps it up, eventually we’ll be called the Merry Men,” Roy put in, dropping himself down from a cat walk to sit on a large crate and looking very pleased with himself.

“Excuse me, not all of us are men,” Donna stated, crossing her arms and arching an eyebrow.

Dick rolled his eyes. “We’ll use normal names, thank you.”

“No fun,” Jason sighed, pushing his bangs back. “Either way, you haven’t answered my question.”

“Well… Because you’re not going to like it.”

The three other members narrowed their eyes at the impromptu leader. Dick rarely did things people didn’t like. But when he did it always had the most danger attached to it and rarely ended well. And he almost always did it by himself.

“Where are you going, Dick?” Donna asked but it was more of a demand.

Dick shuffled his feet, threatening to dip back into the shadows of the warehouse. “Gotham Heights.”

Roy blinked at him, uncomprehending for a moment. “What? You mean those houses up on the hill?”

Dick nodded.

Jason glowered at him. “Dick, that’s top class and top security. You’ll never get in. Or if you do, you’ll never get out.”

Dick shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. We have more mouths to feed and they offer the best chance.”

Donna rubbed her temple. “Which house?”

Gotham Heights was a community of names. Anyone living there were in and out of the tabloids. Especially the Wayne Manor, that man’s name was in everything. The biggest names, the biggest riches and the most profit.

Dick cleared his throat. “The Drakes.”

-/-

Getting into the Drake household hadn’t been nearly as hard as Dick thought it would be. In fact, it was disturbingly easy. One quick climb up an ivy covered wall and a tight squeeze through a unused bathroom window and he was in.

The house was dark in a very unwelcoming way. If he hadn’t read the newspaper about the Drake’s going away for yet another long adventure, he would have been sure they didn’t even exist.

The air was stale, almost hard to breathe. It certainly wasn’t helping his nerves.

Still, Dick had a mission to do. He trotted through the house, searching for anything that wouldn’t be missed and could be easily sold.

Four staircases and sixteen rooms later, he’d only found a hand full of things. But what expensive things they were! It was almost nauseating how much money this family had laying about.

Dick was just closing a guest room wardrobe when a sharp knock on the wall made him jump. He spun around quickly, only to be confronted with a hard piece of metal pressing into his throat.

“Whoa, whoa! Sorry! I’ll put everything back, I promise,” he choked out, lifting his hands.

Silence greeted him, the metal staff unmoving. Although the lapse of silence allowed him a moment to look over the person in front of him.

A slim young man with an almost peckish look about him stared at him with an intense glare. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen, if Dick had to guess. He was weirdly attractive, in that rich white boy who spends too much time inside sort of way. But the hard set jaw, straight nose and sharp eyes added a little spice that made his appearance even more interesting.

“Could you put down the sta–”

“Who are you?”

The voice was deeper than Dick expected, almost taking him by surprise. He had thought something much higher and shyer would come from a body like that.

“Uh, I’m…”

“You’re that Robin Hood man, aren’t you?”

Dick frowned slightly. He really hadn’t wanted that title to catch on. “What makes you say that?”

“I saw you on the news.”

Dick shifted, very much wanting the weapon to be moved. He was only thankful that it wasn't a knife, or worse. He needed to get out of here. Not that the tiny man had made any move to call the cops. “Could have been anyone.”

“No, it was you.” The man sounded more confident in that statement than it deserved to have. Slowly, he straightened, pulling the staff away. “Then you’re taking my things to get money for food. Right?”

Dick nodded, not sure where the conversation was going but glad the staff was gone. Just in case, he kept his hands up.

“Those things won’t sell for much,” came the idle comment, paired with a small gesture toward the pack on Dick's hip.

Dick looked down at his spoils, frowning slightly. “Sure they will. They look expensive.”

“And that’s about it. They’re all fakes.”

Dick blinked then lifted his head to stare. “What? No way. You richies never have fake stuff.”

A bitter sort of smirk pulled at the other man’s features. “You don’t know much about the Drakes, do you?”

Dick unwillingly shook his head. “Just what I read in the paper,” he mumbled, unwilling to admit that he'd only read, at most, one or two things. His attention had wavered after he'd read that the house was supposed to be empty.

“Here, I’ll get you something.” The Drake boy turned to leave.

“Wait, what? Why?” Dick lurched forward, catching the man’s arm before he could fully go. A small part of him was worried that the police would be called instead. “Why would you help me? I’m stealing your stuff.”

A strange tension pulled over the man’s features at the touch but Dick didn’t let go. His grip tightened.

“Because… My family has enough money and enough stuff. No one is ever here to enjoy it apart from myself. Might as well give it to a good cause.”

Reluctantly, Dick let go. He still didn't quite believe the words. “Okay. I guess… You’re not going to call the cops on me?”

His answer was a quick head shake. “Stay here, I’ll go get it.” Before Dick could catch him again, the Drake kid disappeared.

Dick scratched his head and turned to dump his would-be spoils on the guest bed. He wasn’t left to his confusion long. Soon enough the boy was returning with a sleek black box.

“Here.” He handed it over.

Dick hesitated before taking the box. He pushed it open and had to stop to gather his jaw off of the floor.

Inside was the biggest diamond ring Dick had ever seen, paired with a sleek silver bracelet.

“I can’t take this!” He spluttered, shoving it back.

Drake shook his head, pushing it away. A strange, wavering expression briefly passed over the angular features. He swallowed before speaking, “It was my birthday gift for my mother. She didn’t… It wasn’t in her tastes. It’ll only gather dust if it’s here. Take it and use the money.”

Dick’s mouth worked uselessly. Hands shaking slightly, he slipped it into his pack. He clutched the pack close to his chest as if afraid that it would disappear. “That’s way too much,” he muttered, starting to take the steps back to the window and his way out.

“If it’s not enough, you can always come back.”

Dick stopped, looking over the teenager for another time. He’d never seen anyone look quite so alone. It made him consider quite a large number of things. He smiled gently. “Can I know your name?”

“Timothy Jackson Drake.”

The formality made him chuckle. “Dick Grayson,” he replied. He reached forward, taking Tim’s hand. He held it up to his mouth, giving it a quick kiss. “I may call on your services again, Maid Marian.”

Not waiting for a response or another staff to the throat, Dick hopped out the window. He was very sure, when he took once glance back that there was a smile on that painfully lonely face.


	47. Saving Little John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - Robin Hood, the Merry Men and Maid Marian all in Gotham City.

It had been a week since Robin Hood had broken into the Drake house hold. The missing jewelry hadn’t been noticed and no one was the wiser.

Save for Tim Drake, of course.

Not content to stay at home now that he’d been ‘visited’, he’d taken to traveling around Gotham. He was rather determined to see more of Dick, or anyone of his little gang. It was exciting, a spice his life hadn’t seen in awhile.

On one particular day, Tim was walking around Gotham’s open markets. It was a bit of history that hadn’t been eaten up in the passage of time. The large, communal space was in the center of the East End Park and was, currently, covered in stalls selling all sorts of local wares. Even without the desire to find Robin Hood again, Tim would have come to the market anyway. It was bright, cheerful, sweet smelling collection that he used to visit a lot as a child.

Tim moved slowly around the carts, not particularly interested in any one thing. He turned around one stall and right into the middle of a huge commotion. Then he was very interested.

Not usually one to get into the fray, Tim was about to step around it when something stopped him. He caught a glimpse of who was in the center.

“Is that..?” He mumbled, easily slipping through the crowd. He recognized the face from one of the hazy newspaper photos.

“You thief! Trying to steal from one of Gotham’s elite!” A seller shouted. She was a tall, spindly woman in clothes that suggested that she thought she was more unique and important than anyone else in a five mile radius.

“Like you’d miss it," was the drawling reply.

“What seems to be the problem?”

The crowd, Tim and the pair arguing turned to see the police striding toward them. But not just any particular police member, the commissioner himself. He was most likely just close to the area–presumably looking for the vigilante that had been stalking the streets recently. There was no way he’d come out for such a petty crime.

Jim Gordon stepped up to the quarreling pair. He shooed away the crowd, not really caring when they didn’t immediately disperse. It was hard to hear what he was saying but the familiar face was looking close to worried.

Tim focused on that face again. His thoughts smashed together and he understood. It was someone from Dick’s gang. The right hand man, if he wasn’t mistaken.

He’d vowed to help Dick, that meant people in his little group.

Right?

Right.

Thinking quickly, Tim pushed through the crowd. His heart was already pounding in his ears and his throat felt tight. He hated drawing attention to himself, hated all the stares but he had to do something.

“There you are!” He called, stepping up next to Jason, looking for all the world like a frazzled sibling. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The tall male blinked at him, not understanding. His eyes narrowed suspiciously when Tim stepped closer.

Tim grasped his elbow. “Play along, please?” He murmured out of the corner of his mouth as he started to steer him back into the crowds.

The man nodded. “You obviously weren’t looking that hard," he said, a smooth smirk pulling at his lips.

“You know this man?” The snooty woman asked, her nose turned up and mouth pinched.

“I…” Suddenly realizing that maybe, just maybe he shouldn't have tried to help. That lying to his parents was one thing but lying to a police officer and a thick crowd was something else entirely. Under the weight of the stares he froze for just a second.

Jim looked at him curiously. “Well, do you, young man?” He asked, sounding kind enough.

Tim nodded, wrenching himself back together. Messing up would mean worse trouble for the both of them. “He works for my mother," he answered.

“Your mother?”

Another nod from Tim. “Janet Drake.”

That earned triple expressions of shock. The woman in particular seemed close to a heart attack.

“What was he doing here, then?" The seller demanded, eyeing him suspiciously.

“He was supposed to just take me out on the town. He’s a glorified babysitter at the moment," Tim continued, the words coming faster and easier as he built the story in his head.

The Merry Man snorted, crossing his arms. The movement pulled his leather jacket tight, it was, probably, the most expensive thing he'd ever owned and compared to Tim's chinos and classic Oxfords, he couldn't look more worlds apart. 

“I don’t get paid nearly enough. I keep losing this kid," he complained.

The woman bristled. “Then what were you doing going into my purse?” She demanded.

“I’m sure he did no such thing,” Tim cut in quickly. “This market gets so packed he was searching for me and just grabbed your purse on accident.”

Jim looked between them, settling on the Merry Man. “Is this true?”

“Yeah,” came the reply with a slight sigh. “I didn’t mean too.”

“And the insults?” The woman demanded.

“He gets prideful and touchy,” Tim put in. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “My family is holding a charity ball next week. As an apology, you are invited.”

The woman gaped at him, lifting her hand slowly to take the card. “Will Bruce Wayne be there?” She asked.

“Of course,” Tim answered, passing over the card. He offered a hand shake as another small apology.

“I will take this then.” She shoved the card in her purse and accepted the handshake. “I hope never to get this much trouble from a Drake again.”

Turning on her heel, she stormed off.

Jim Gordon sighed. “I wasn’t needed much, was I?”

Tim looked at him apologetically. “We can get you coffee for the trouble.”

“No, it’s all right,” he said, waving him off. “Keep your 'babysitter’ out of trouble.”

Jim gave them a rather knowing look before moving off.

“Damn kid, you’re good,” the Merry Man whistled. “Dick wasn’t kidding. You’re the perfect Maid Marian.”

“I prefer Tim, thank you. And here.” Tim held up a clunky gold bracelet. “Take that so you don’t have to go back empty handed.”

“Where did you get that?” He questioned, taking the bracelet.

“Some people are much more subtle when they steal.”

“Jesus…”

Tim patted his arm and moved back quickly into the market. Later the woman realize her bracelet was missing and return to make a fuss but the crowds would be much less willing to deal with the commotion a second time.


	48. Introducing the Merry Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - Robin Hood, the Merry Men and Maid Marian all in Gotham City.

“Okay, they may seem mean and rough but they’re actually super nice,” Dick explained, ducking around storage units and broken crates.

“Why do I have to meet them again?” Tim asked, clutching Dick’s sleeve and scrambling to follow. His occasional run-ins with Dick's gang had been stressful enough just one-on-one, he couldn't imagine what it would be like to meet the entire pack. It wasn't his world, after all. He was all fancy colognes and perfectly fitted pants with shirts that cost more than most people's rent. Their world was dirty and scrabbled together thrift store finds.

“Because you’ve been helping us out so much, I figured it was time they meet our Maid Marian.”

“You don’t call me Maid Marian do you?”

Dick cleared his throat loudly. “Well, it’s just down there.” He stopped to knock on a large slab of metal. “Hey Little John, it’s me.”

“Robin Hood?” A poor excuse for a British accent rumbled up to them.

“Nope. The Pied Piper.”

The metal shifted and a dirty face popped out. “And here I thought the Robin Hood thing wouldn’t catch on.” The new face stopped, eyes narrowing in on Tim. “A new kid? Dick, you know we can't afford another.”

“Uh, no, this is…” Dick cleared his throat again. “Maid Marian. Jason, meet Tim.”

Jason’s eyes widened and he stared at Tim for a full minute. “This is the 'angel' who has been helping us? Dick, you need to get your eyes checked.“

Tim glowered. "Hey, if it weren’t for me, Commissioner Gordon would have picked you up last week.”

Jason waved him off, seeming to give in. “Yeah, yeah. Come on inside Marian.” He disappeared from view.

Tim shot a glare at Dick.

Dick shrugged apologetically. “I’m trying to get them to stop.”


	49. Broken Strings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - Watching the Flying Grayson's Fall irreparably changed Tim's life but certainly not for the better. He's fast becoming one of Gotham's biggest Crimelords and Batman isn't sure he can stop it.

Dick glared at the impeccably dressed man across from him. The entire left side of his face throbbed, promising an ugly purple when he woke up tomorrow.

If he woke up tomorrow.

“Are you trying to kill us?” He spat.

Utter shock crossed over deceptively innocent features. The thin man leaned forward, shaking his head. “Kill you? No, no, never kill you.” He paused, straightening back up. The way he stalked toward Dick could only be compared to a practiced predator.

“I just want to make you squirm. I want to watch as every little string your 'father' tied snaps and leaves the rest of you dangling. I want you to wish you’d joined your parents that night.”


	50. Alfred's Little Helper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred gets his own sidekick.

The last few weeks had certainly taken a turn towards the very interesting. Then again, when Red Robin suddenly showed up in the cave with a terribly wounded little girl in his just as bloody arms, things rarely stayed dull.

As it turned out the young girl was an orphan who had, literally, no connections in Gotham. From her accent she was from Ireland and had come to America for the age old dream and freedom. Instead, she had gotten pulled into a drug ring. It was only the lucky happenstance that Red Robin had been trailing the ring, barely managing to pull her out. Since her arrival, Batman had been trying to find a place for her but that window was slowly closing.

More specifically, Alfred was enjoying having her around.

Marina was a little spit fire with the curly mass of auburn hair to match. She had instantly taken to Alfred’s side, always making sure that the elderly man was heard and helped out. Even if that meant she had to go into Damian’s room to tear the curtains open. Every remark to her had a comment snapped right back. This girl could hold her own against Bruce Wayne, even if she was only four and a half feet tall.

In the first week she had gotten a tour of the Manor, all the while asking Alfred how he cleaned. She was the first child, outside of Tim Drake, who had an actual interest in his cleaning habits. A day after the tour, she was begging to help him with his daily chores. In fact, quite soon, she was helping him with everything; from the dusting to fixing up the Bat suit, she was right along side him helping. And it wasn’t until he had the second set of hands that Alfred realized just how much he did.

“Father!” Damian shrieked as he stormed down the stairs. “Father, you have to remove that girl from the house! She is a menace.”

Bruce paused, looking up from his morning paper to arch an eyebrow at his son. He looked to Alfred, who was politely amused.

“I haven’t done a thing, little man,” Marina crowed as she skipped into the kitchen, lifting the plate of rolls out of Alfred’s hands. “You’re just upset that I woke you from your beauty sleep. Which you might need a little more of.”

It was only Bruce’s hand on his shoulder that stopped Damian from seriously pummelling the girl into the floor. He snorted, pulling away from the touch. He shot a glare at Marina’s bright smile and left the room.

“Is he always that angry?” She asked, curiously.

Alfred sighed softly. “Not always. Come, would you gather those apples for me?”

Bruce watched the two move around the kitchen. It was the first time in the last few weeks that he had been struck by the idea of letting the girl stay. Alfred was already so comfortable with her. Indeed, they moved seamlessly like they’d been partners for years. A small part of his mind supplied a quiet Batman and Robin reference only a bit more domestic. Come to think of it, he had caught the both of them down in the Cave cleaning the dust off of the Case, chatting amiably about the British government system.

Quietly, he sighed and pushed out of his seat. “Alfred, I’ve got the charity tonight, will my work suit be done?”

Alfred gave a nod. “Of course, sir. The first is in your car and the other I will bring just after dinner. Unless,” he stopped to give a wry smile, “something should interrupt your charities as they always do.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be Selina doing the interrupting, at least. She’s joining me tonight.”

“Never stopped her before, Sir,” he carefully supplied.

Bruce nodded. “Point taken.” He lifted his news paper and left the kitchen with all the grace of a man who owned an entire city. The rest of the day he contemplated Alfred getting a side kick all of his own.


End file.
